


The Howl Out of Time

by RhysLahey



Series: Beyond the Elritch Beacon [3]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cults, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Family Secrets, Friendship, Hounds of Tindalos, Lovecraftian, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post-Canon, Romance, Secret Societies, Slow Build, The Dreamlands (Cthulhu Mythos), The Occult, Time Travel, Wolf Pack, but not a 'time travel fix-it', long fic, seven sleepers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 219,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhysLahey/pseuds/RhysLahey
Summary: When it came to the complex workings of his mind and his feelings, Isaac never managed to find the strength to talk about them. Furthermore, the moment he said anything he would have to admit that something was happening. Something that would inevitably snowball and put an end to Isaac’s peaceful life. Again. Just like the alpha pack had shattered his new life as a werewolf. Just like the nogitsune had nipped in the bud his relationship with Allison. Just like Kate Argent had vanquished his hopes for a new beginning with Chris. Just like the fucking cult had destroyed his entire life in France. He would not let some random nightmares and stressful memories destroy his new life with Scott and Melissa in Beacon Hills. No. Never. He was ready to lose everything, but he could not lose Scott again.A year has passed since Isaac returned to California to start his new life with Scott, but the past will come back to haunt him and the rest of the pack in ways that none of them could ever imagine.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Melissa McCall, Ethan/Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey & Jackson Whittemore, Isaac Lahey & Liam Dunbar, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Laura Hale/Camden Lahey (past), Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski (background), Mason Hewitt/Corey Bryant (past), Natalie Martin/Sheriff Stilinski (background)
Series: Beyond the Elritch Beacon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581652
Comments: 23
Kudos: 23





	1. Bells  of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the third part of the "Beyond the Elrditch Beacon" series! This fic will build on the premises of the first book ("Beacons and Groves"), so you may want to read it first, although I would like to believe that you should be able to follow this story regardless. The second story ("The Mists of the Silver Towers") is a much lighter read, but it is not essential to understand this third book.
> 
> This will again be a long fic, with a slow build up, so please, please bear with me -- it will be worth it, I promise! The story is still going to have a definite Lovecraftian feel in the setting and the baddies, so some of you might be able to guess where this is going to (and what the main foe will end up being)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was wearing some sort of long dress, almost ankle-length, but it was partly folded over her belt. She was probably pretty, but her face was a mask of utter terror. Isaac could not see what she was running from, but it must be big and scary.  
> “Hold, wait!” Isaac shouted when she was a few yards in front of him. “Wait, stop!”
> 
> OR: Isaac has trouble in his sleep, so he decides to go for a run. He finds something nasty.

**_Beacon Hills, the following summer_ **

It had been well over a year since the cultic stint at the nemeton and, as far as the pack could tell, everything in Beacon Hills was back to normal. Or as normal as it ever got to be in Beacon Hills. The town had certainly been hit hard: there was an alarming amount of shops boarded shut and a high number of houses for sale. It seemed as if many neighbours had had enough of unexpected and unnatural stuff and moved away. But in terms of supernatural activity, everything was calm. There had been no signs of the mi-go, and all the cultists that had been arrested were already in jail. As far as the Sheriff was concerned, that chapter was well and truly over.

Isaac did not notice at first, as the town decline was steady and gradual, and it was only whenever he came back home to Beacon Hills from Davis (where he had moved to with Scott) that he really noticed that there were fewer shops and fewer people. The Sheriff was concerned about the long-term negative effects this could have economy-wise, but there was nothing he or the pack could do about it.

For a change, this was a normal town crisis and not a supernatural one.

All in all, none of this troubled Isaac particularly. He now had all the things in life that he had given up on during his teenage years, especially after his mother and brother died. To start with, he had a well-paid part-time job in Chris Argent’s company; a job he liked and that he knew how to do. And he did it well. He had a new caring family in Chris and Melissa, which would never substitute his original family, but it was the best one he could have asked for. He had, moreover, completed his Argent hunter training programme, which he passed with flying colours, and had a silver ring with a fleur-de-lis (which he wore looped in a chain around his neck) to prove it. Most important of all, he had a gorgeous boyfriend who loved him. He had, on top of everything, a large group of close friends in the pack. Isaac could claim that all the pack were his best friends, but it was no secret that, other than Scott, he got on the best with Stiles, Jackson and, surprisingly, Liam. He had also finished his university studies and was now, technically, an Earth scientist. He even managed to find a rugby club to join in Sacramento, which he had never expected to do.

And yet, there was _something_ wrong. It was not something he could do anything about directly (or at least he did not know how to), which was infuriating. Ever since the previous summer (ever since he had that regression to his childhood with Camden, followed by a one-on-one conversation in the dark void with the Outer God of the Thousand Masks) he had been having these very weird dreams. They were definitely not his usual nightmares, those from which he woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat and begging not to be locked in the freezer. Isaac still had had a couple of those, and had scared Scott shitless at three in the morning in both occasions. But those dreams had been only a few. And he was comfortable with those nightmares, simply because they were familiar. Isaac found them oddly comforting simply because they reminded him about how much he had improved.

No; these new dreams were not nightmares. They were not usual nice dreams either. They were simply _weird_. They were extremely vivid, and Isaac always could remember what happened in them, just as if he had been awake. What scared him the most was that they were not dreamy memories – they were as real as his daytime ones. Only the fact that he consciously knew that he was dreaming (and that he remembered waking up) confirmed that they were dreams. Otherwise, Isaac would have been very worried about his own sanity.

For some obscure reason, Stiles and Liam were usually in those dreams with him. Not that he complained, because they were his friends. It was simply a bummer that none of his other friends popped up in his dreams with that frequency. It specially bugged him that, of all people, he could not dream about Scott in those vivid dreams. He had, in any case, plenty of dreams about Scott, but they were not the same type of dream. That was his only mercy; otherwise Isaac would have to suffer the embarrassment of having Stiles and Liam _seeing_ what he and Scott did in his ‘usual’ Scott-centred dreams.

The dreams had become more frequent in the last weeks, especially those that ended up with him staring at a large, shadowy gate. Behind the gate, Isaac could hear a voice calling to him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never open the gate or cross the wall. His frustration was still there whenever he woke up, and that usually soured his mood for the rest of the day. While he was sleeping, he had an urge to go through this gate and find the voice that called him but, when he was awake, he wondered if that was a sensible idea.

To make things worse, Scott had already noticed that something was _off_ , which Isaac could not stand. He could see that even if Isaac never complained of being tired or not well rested after waking up, he was not in his usual morning mood (which had always been better than Scott’s). The alpha had obviously tried to help, but he worried too much and asked him all the time if he was all okay, which drove Isaac up the wall. The result was usually that the beta shunned his boyfriend away and just asked him to forget about it, on the excuse that it was only dreams.

That particular morning, the dream had been so frustrating that he had dug his claws into the mattress in his sleep, and only noticed when he woke up. When Scott shifted in bed beside him, Isaac forced himself to take a deep breath to calm himself down. It took him four breaths before he could draw his claws back. By then Scott was awake already, and looking at his boyfriend with worried sleepy eyes. Isaac sat up in bed and decided that he would not even try to go to sleep again. It was early still, but he could not face another dream. He decided to go for a run.

He kissed Scott’s head and shushed him back to sleep, even if he knew well that Scott would not be able to do it either. He grabbed his shorts and threw on a t-shirt. He fished a pair of socks from his bedside drawer and put his trainers on.

“I’ll go for a quick run, babe,” Isaac told Scott, who was mostly awake now.

“Ok,” the alpha replied in a sad tone. Isaac hesitated for a second whether to say something or not, but he decided not to.

He opened their bedroom door and began to close it, when Scott called for him.

“Isaac?”

“Yes?” he replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” Isaac said with a smile. Whatever happened, Scott always managed that. Isaac was that lucky. “To the moon and back. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Isaac got to the front door and picked up his keys.

“I’m leaving my phone behind!” the beta said from the front door, and then he was off.

***

Demetria woke up sweating and panting. The sweat and the exhaustion happened every time they _crossed_ a cave _._ But at least they were not lost: the cave was certainly the same one they had gone to sleep in (which did not always happen). But, as expected, the cave was not as they had left it. It somehow felt different.

The bleak light of the early morning entered through the cave mouth only to reveal that all their protections were gone. The runes and symbols they had drawn and painted had either faded or crumbled. Some of them, annoyingly, had been painted over with crosses and pictures of holy men. The plaster was mostly there, but it had _corners_ , which was not good. She rubbed her eyes and quickly checked around her.

“Are you all ok?” she called with a dry mouth. She _was_ thirsty.

A few groggy murmurs of approval were heard around her, soon followed by a low moan of pain.

“It got Anthemios!” Hypathia called, a slim middle-aged woman with thick black curls, kneeling by their companion’s side. Anthemios was a young wiry lad, barely out of puberty, with pox marks on his face.

“Curses to Tartaros!” Aurelius muttered. He was the oldest. A bearded gentleman with thinning grey hair.

Demetria walked slowly towards her friend, feeling a bit light headed after standing up. It looked bad. Anthemios was very pale and sweating profusely. To make things worse, his white tunic and his green travelling cloak were all covered in blood and some other thick and viscous grey liquid.

“Don’t touch it!” warned Heraklios, a burly man with thick black curls clipped short, a broken nose from his wrestling days, and deep brown eyes. “The creature can probably trace us if you touch it.”

“The creature is already tracking us, Heraklios,” said his sister Hypathia.

“We _need_ to help him,” Demetria insisted. “Creature or not. Otherwise he dies! And if he dies, we all are stuck here and die as well!”

“If you touch it and it finds us, then we’re dead!” Heraklios repeated.

“We will be dead regardless, then!” Demetria yelled, now angry at her companion. At her feet, Anthemios moaned again.

Demetria asked Hypathia to lift his tunic, trying to avoid the disgusting ichor. When she did so, she revealed a large circular cut into Anthemios’ side. The flesh inside it was blackening, and around it the skin was bruised greenish-yellow.

“He’s been bitten,” Demetria announced. Her other companions gasped and cursed.

“We need to treat him. We need to heal him.”

“Do you really think any physician will be able to treat the bite of that monster?”

“A _druid_ will be able to. And we are still in the cave of the nemeton,” she added in defiance, pointing at the crumbling plaster.

“Look at this cave!” Heraklios roared, his anger deriving from his panic. “All our work has been undone. All the protections gone. And now the creature is at biting distance! We don’t have time to set up the protections again – which is why we _need_ another sleep.”

“We _need_ the seven of us for a sleep,” Aurelius insisted, siding clearly with Demetria. “We need to heal Anthemios as soon as possible,” he reasoned. “And if this is the cave of the nemeton, then we may still stand a chance to fight the creature off.”

“We thought so the last time,” Heraklios defied. “And it did not work!”

“We were too early last time.”

“And how do we know that we are not too late now? Look at the plaster! All but gone!”

“Yes,” Demetria acknowledged. “But look at these.”

She walked to the middle of the cave, where there was a strange woven metal fence separating the area where their protections were crumbling from the entrance to the cave. The access was covered with a dull-grey metal grid, and red-and-white chains marking a path. There were large metal uprights with something scribbled on them.

“Look!” she insisted as she went to examine one of the metal inscriptions. “It’s… I don’t know... It looks like Latin, but I cannot read it. It’s definitely some sort of barbaric lingo. We _must_ have made it in time!”

Aurelius walked to the signs and agreed.

“This is our best chance, Heraklios,” Aurelius added. “It feels right.”

“It can feel as right as Aphrodite’s tits, for all I care!” Heraklios swore. “We’ll be safer going away from here and away from _now_!”

“He’s not fit to sleep and get to the bottom of the cave,” Hypathia admonished. “I really wish we could leave this place as soon as possible, but we really can’t go until he improves.”

Heraklios looked at his other companions, all of which looked tired and scared. They had been bouncing back and forth ever since they first encountered the creature, going further and further away, gaining enough time for them to find a way to kill it. But the monster was getting too close, and it would be coming for them soon. They had learnt that distance meant safety, and the more distance they put between them, the safer they would be. Now, with Anthemios injured, moving on was going to be difficult because they needed all seven of them to open the right cave gates.

The former fighter threw his hands in the air and accepted the consensus.

“You better go and find us a druid from this nemeton,” he warned, and pointed at Demetria.

“We’ll keep watch and try to set up proper protections.”

“Try to find water and, if you can, send plaster.”

“Here,” Aurelius said as he handed her a small leather bag. “Take a few denarii with you. Do you want me to come with you?”

“Don’t worry,” Demetria tried to sound reassuring. “I will look for help and will be back before sunset.”

She gave her companions a quick nod and went up to the cave mouth. There she found that a larger inscription in bronze-cast letters had been fixed to the entrance. It was written in the same odd Latin script she had seen inside the cavern but, annoyingly, it was still that same barbaric language. The only thing she could recognise was the drawing of a bear and a star, although there was also a painting of a church which she recognised. Demetria looked at it but could not make sense of what it said. She huffed and ignored it, and walked down the path in the forest towards a large sprawling settlement.

Behind her, the rising sun illuminated the plaque which read: ‘California State Parks – California Historic Missions Trail – Saint Ignatius Mission, Beacon County. Cave of the Seven Sleepers’.

***

**_Somewhere else entirely_ **

It was hot and dry in the afternoon when the foreign man walked into the village. He was tall and broad shouldered. His hair was light brown and wavy; his eyes greenish blue. He was wearing a light and loose linen tunic tucked into his hardy travelling trousers, and was covering his head with a green scarf. He was an outsider, but there he was not really a stranger; even if he spent most of his time wandering up and down the country, that village was the closest thing to a home he had. Not that he remembered his original home, in any case. He could not even remember his previous name. He had forgotten everything about his past life the moment he was thrown across the black wall by the two priests. Ironically, he had to give up his life in order to save his _life_. But he still carried his golden bronze dagger, which was the only reminder of having had a different existence before he landed in that weird country.

The village itself was no more than a small cluster of whitewashed houses with red-tiled roofs on the far side of the Tanarian hills. The centre was a cobbled square with a large fountain where the local market was held every weekend. The outsider walked straight into the inn where they knew him and where he always had a room ready. The stranger ducked through the door and pulled down his scarf as he ordered a jug of wine. The innkeeper waved at him and brought him the wine together with a small loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.

“Long time no see, Cantior,” the innkeeper welcomed him. Cantior was not his name, but he was tired of being simply called ‘stranger’.

“I know, Amery,” he replied with a tired voice.

“How’s the search? Have you found about those three mysterious foreigners?”

A couple of years ago Cantior was travelling across Ulthar when he came across three men in a tavern. They were loud and rowdy outsiders, just like him, but they had clearly drawn the attention or incurred in the wrath of the wrong people and they were kicked out there and then. They were the first ones he had ever encountered in those lands, and Cantior needed to ask them for help.

Perhaps they could help him find out who he was or where he could have come from. Maybe they could help him claim his memories back. Maybe he could finally remember _who_ he was and fill that nagging hole in his heart.

But he never saw them again. No matter how hard he tried or how far he searched.

The outsider took a long gulp of his wine before answering.

“Nothing. Not at all. Nobody knows who they are or where they come from,” he took a bite of his cheese. “It’s as if they vanished in thin air.”

“Oh well,” Amery said as he sat by him. “They can’t have gone that far. You saw them in Ulthar, right? There’s only the one road there. Someone must have seen them.”

“You would think so,” the outsider said. “But no matter how many people I asked, nobody seems to remember much about them.”

“Did you ask the merchants from that tavern?” the innkeeper asked, trying to be helpful, but growing increasingly annoying.

“Yes, Amery,” he snapped back as he took a long sip from his wine. “I did ask the merchants. The ones I was able to trace, at least. They didn’t know.”

“Not even with a bribe?”

“Not for all the contents of my purse.”

“You should have shown them your dagger,” the innkeeper pointed as he walked back to the bar to attend to a customer.

His bronze dagger was quite a regular blade. The hilt was simple and the handle was the same bronze core wrapped in soft brown leather. One could say it was unimpressive. It certainly wasn’t more remarkable in itself than any other weapon. The merchants and their guards were usually equipped with swords, halberds, and crossbows, decorated with pearls or inlays or precious stones. The power of his dagger resided in _where_ he got it from. Or, rather, _whom_ from. Somehow, his dagger marked him out wherever he went. He commanded an unexpected amount of respect or fear, and people were willing to help him whenever they saw his blade.

“I did not have to show them, they had seen it already. And still they would not tell me because they did not know,” he muttered into his wine jug.

“So how come are you here?” the innkeeper questioned aloud from the bar. “You’re not the sort to give up on a quest.”

“That’s because I finally have a lead. And a name.”

“That’s a shame. It means you’ll be leaving us soon again!”

The innkeeper chuckled at his own joke and went back to the cellar to search for something. Meanwhile, Cantior could not stop thinking about the cloaked woman who had found him a few weeks ago. He had camped by the ruined city of Sarnath when this woman approached his fire. Rules of the rover obliged him to offer food and drink but the woman did not even sit down. She definitely knew him and she knew about his quest. She had told him that there was little she could do for him, but she gave him two nuggets of information. She told him about the Moon Tower, where he could find either the outsiders or find answers to his questions. She also gave him a name she had read in the hidden books of the Hyperboreans, held in the library of Olathöe. A name that was the key to find out about his own past: Isaac, descendant of heroes.

***

Demetria could not believe the size of the town in front of her. Last time she had been there, it had been but a small settlement around a church, and now it sprawled all over the plain. She doubted the priests would be of any help, so she had to get to the druid, wherever they would be. She guessed that the druid would be closer to the nemeton, so she turned towards her left, climbing up the hill. Before their last sleep she had walked along that same path, going over the ridge, but the forest now seemed very different. It was less dense, and there were fewer animals. There was something wrong with those woods, but she did not have the time to check what it was.

When she reached the crest of the hill she noticed that the old signal tower was not there anymore, but she had no time to wonder about it, because the town she saw ahead was even bigger than the one that was behind. Demetria wanted to believe that she was a well-travelled woman (she had been to Antioch, Rome and Alexandria), and even all her experience travelling through the caves had not prepared her for what she saw.

A large gridded settlement had engulfed the valley, although the hills around it were still covered in forests. The thickest part of the woods was at the foot of the hills, encroaching on the flatter ground. She sighed in relief – at least the nemeton grove was still in the woods, so it was probably still active. The unnecessarily wide roads were covered in a thick layer of pebbles bound with asphalt. They were lined with large metallic upright poles. Large four-wheeled vehicles rushed through them at incredible speeds, and making hideous noises. In the distance, she could see that the city centre had unbelievably high towers covered in glass, and around it there were smaller houses surrounded by gardens. It was surprising that there were no walls or gates, or any distinctive temples.

She stood there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what she was surrounded by, but she had no time to waste. Anthemios was still injured and she needed to find a druid, so she picked up her pace and rushed downhill. She did not know how, when, or if those vehicles would stop (and the occupants inside them did not seem to be that bothered about people on the side of the road), so she had to avoid the roads and wait until she found a quieter way to get to the nemeton. Besides, there were fewer sharp corners and angles in the forest, which was always reassuring.

She managed to cross the hills and a few roads without being hit by any of those fast demonic machines. Eventually, she got to the edge of the forest of the nemeton grove, which had not changed much since she had visited it last. Demetria rushed through the paths, following her instincts and hoping that she could still read the ley lines.

Deeper into the forest, she came across an open area with a large building in its centre. She stopped at the edge of the treeline and eyed the building carefully.

The building looked new. _Very_ new. The paint was still bright and there were no signs of dampness or vegetation creeping in. But, strangely enough, it was very clearly abandoned and shut. There were red-and-white ribbons marking the large glass windows, clearly telling passers-by to stay away. Demetria walked around the building with caution.

When she walked around the first corner she noticed that it was not, as she had thought, one large building, but actually two rectangular ones forming an L-shape. It was clear that she had approached it from the rear, because now she could see the doors and more signs in the barbaric language that she could not understand, although there were three words that she had seen already and that she remembered from the inscription outside the cave: ‘State’, ‘Park’, and ‘Beacon’. Demetria shook her head before turning around to try and find her bearings, but before she could look up into the sky she heard a hissing sound – a hissing sound she had heard twice already, and it was a hissing sound that she knew meant only one thing: the creature had found her.

Demetria looked around as she panicked, and she realised that she had waited around that building for too long. The building! It was a series of boxes, so it had long ninety-degree edges, it had corners and it had angles. It had _too many_. She identified where the hissing sound was coming from, and there she could see how the fabric of reality flickered, as if a new plane of existence was opening through the angle of the building. A greenish-grey mist seeped through that new impossible plane, covering it like mist covers a mirror. She was frozen where she stood until she heard the ominous crackling of thunder that announced the arrival of the creature.

Something in her mind clicked—a deeply-burrowed but well-ingrained survival instinct—and she took off. She ran away from that cursed building as she heard the unholy screeching howl the creature made when it broke into this plane of existence. Our plane of existence. She was running out of time. She dashed through the bushes, not daring to look back, when her travelling cloak got tangled in one of the low branches, halting her. Cursing the gods, she pulled and yanked until it tore loose and, with the cloak still in her hand, she kept on running.

When she could feel the cold and damp breath of the creature behind her she screamed.

***

Isaac was jogging through the preserve, trying to clear his mind, but his brain was having none of that. He wanted to think about the upcoming preseason: even if as a werewolf he did not really need it, he liked the overall experience because swearing and huffing and puffing over never-ending gym series was an excellent exercise of team bonding.

But no matter what, he ended up thinking about the annoying dreams. Why did his troubled subconscious insist in bringing Stiles and Liam into his dreams? Was it all tummy aches and large dinners? He had not been eating _that_ much pizza. Not since he had a say in Scott’s diet at least, and introduced him to the concept of Five a Day he had been bombarded with in France. _Seriously, how did he even survive on his own? Can werewolves get scurvy?_

Unsurprisingly enough, inner wolf was not helpful at all, because he was just mulling over the voice that he heard from beyond the black gate. He insisted that it was important to follow the voice; that they should try and find it. Isaac had to roll his eyes at him. Apparently, inner wolf ignored the fact that nothing good ever came out of a massive black gate. Inner wolf had not read _The Return of the King_.

Isaac tried to gain back control of his own chain of thought, and he shook his head and even growled in frustration. It was way too late to ask for a normal life – not that he really wanted one, but he just wanted to moan. He felt his eyes turning and his claws extending, so he decided to punch a tree, hoping that the adrenaline would give him some focus. Before he could hit a trunk, something else gave him the focus he was searching for. He heard a woman scream.

In a second he was racing towards it. He managed to locate the screams and he rushed there. The woman was running away from the old park offices, which had been built on top of the old Hale mansion. Then he saw her. It was a well-built young woman. Her hair was brown and tied with a ribbon. She was wearing some sort of long dress, almost ankle-length, but it was partly folded over her belt. She was probably pretty, but her face was a mask of utter terror. Isaac could not see what she was running from, but it had to be big and scary.

“Hold, wait!” Isaac shouted when she was a few yards in front of him. “Wait, stop!”

But the woman was not stopping. He did not want to tackle her, but he could not see what the danger was. She was getting closer, and Isaac decided to stand in her way with his hands extended, begging her to stop. And then she saw _him_. The woman’s face changed, perhaps showing hope, perhaps wishing that tall lad would get out of her frigging way. She shouted something in a language he could not understand, but what was certain was that she was _not_ stopping, and there must have been something _very_ frightening behind her.

“Wait, I don’t underst—“

He could not finish, because she rammed him. Isaac had not expected that, which is the only reason why he was suddenly flat on his back, with a woman in a dress on top of him.

Before Isaac could complain, the woman threw something on his face. A cloth of some sort. He was suddenly blinded and vulnerable, with something scary and potentially dangerous around. Isaac panicked, and it got only worse when the lady rolled off and screamed again. Isaac began to breathe heavily and he felt his claws extending but as he got his hand to his face he felt _something_.

The _thing_ was suddenly on top of him. It was quick and, above all, _cold_. Isaac felt a large and clawed paw treading heavily on his arm. The towel (or whatever that was) that the woman had thrown on his face was still there, so he could not see what it was. His forearm bones broke when the creature shifted its weight, and Isaac roared. The creature ignored the werewolf and passed over him, darting towards the woman. Isaac, in a blind reflex, lashed up with his other arm.

The monster must have got to the woman at that very instant, because Isaac heard her scream in pain as his clawed hand gashed the creature’s belly. But then it was him who wanted to scream in pain. His hand felt cold. Very cold. Even if it was technically inside a creature. It was beyond cold. It was freezing. It was so cold that Isaac felt his flesh burning. The pain pierced through his skin and his flesh, setting deep into his bones. Worse than the burning cold was the odd sensation of clawing at some half-ethereal creature. Isaac could not feel skin or flesh or guts – only an aethereal sting which surrounded his hand with a tingly chemical sensation. Isaac yelled and cried as he pulled his hand back towards him.

But it must have hurt it somehow, because with an unnatural howl the monster left.

Isaac finally could take the cloth off his face. The creature was gone. The woman besides him was rolling on the floor in pain. The blond werewolf did not check, and he guessed that she had been clawed, or mauled, or bitten, but he needed a few seconds to recover himself. His left arm was throbbing as his bones healed. His right hand was covered in an acid grey substance, and his skin burned. His flesh and his bones were frozen.

It had all happen in a second.

_Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. That’s the end of my holidays._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! Second part of the the series. And my holidays are (as of tomorrow) over, so I can sympathise with Isaac. It's just fucking brilliant.
> 
> Any road, I’m predictable as that. We start _in medias res_ (again). And yeah, here I set down the three main storylines for this fic, which include Isaac in Beacon Hills, the Seven Sleepers, and our “mysterious” outsider in the weird land, about which I cannot say any more lest I spoil the surprise(s). The three lines will be narrated simultaneously, and it should not be too confusing (I hope).
> 
> Any comments so far will be appreciated, as always!


	2. Finals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac worries too much about his final exams, but he thankfully has a supportive pack and an encouraging boyfriend. Only the final exam and a troubling dream stands between him and the summer holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this, but real life stuff has kept me busy.
> 
> Anyways, I can't thank i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name enough, because he has offered to proof-read my painful English! He's amazing. Any typo or mistake that remains is solely mine.

**_A couple of months before_ **

Isaac and Scott spent all of May and most of June studying for their exams. Scott was not relaxed, but he was clearly confident; Isaac, on the other hand, was particularly nervous and edging towards freaking out. He wanted to make Chris (and Scott and Melissa) proud, and he wanted to demonstrate that he was not as thick as his father would have him believe.

In his first two years he was examined by pre-submitted essays, and he had averaged a decent two-one. However, this was his _final_ year, and the result of his exams would determine the final outcome of his degree. This year he had to submit a dissertation but he also had to sit an actual written exam, which would be in one of the accredited exam centres in Berkeley. So he studied a lot and did not sleep enough. He read his textbooks from cover to cover and did extra reading with books Scott got him from UC Davis libraries and papers he downloaded from the internet. He even pestered Lydia, Mason and Jackson so they would read his dissertation before submitting it, even if none of them were doing Earth sciences.

Scott began to get really worried two weeks before Isaac’s written exam. One day he found Isaac fallen asleep with his face in one of his textbooks, drooling over the pages, and with a half-eaten sandwich abandoned on the table. He took him to their bedroom and let him have a proper sleep. But when Isaac got up, Scott was there with a sour look and ready to give him an earful. He nearly had to stage an intervention with Lydia and his mother to make sure that he ate and slept properly. But Isaac was chastised enough after seeing Scott angry at him, and promised to take better care of himself.

By mid-June, Isaac had written and submitted his dissertation (he was particularly proud of it, and hoped to get a first), but rather than enjoying the weight off his shoulders, he entered a downwards spiral of stress and nerves, all because of that one dreaded exam. The week before said test, and despite all of Scott’s best efforts and cuddles and encouragement, Isaac hardly got any sleep. He napped through the day and he spent all the night reading through his notes. Once Scott had to drag him out of the library and force him to have a sit-down meal and a shower.

“Isaac, I don’t understand why you are so worried about the one exam,” Scott told him one day he managed to keep him home for an evening. “I’ve never seen you this freaked out about an exam!”

“Well, you weren’t there when I had to sit my French baccalaureate exams,” his boyfriend snapped, tense as a bowstring.

“You really need to calm down a bit, babe. This is not healthy.”

“Well, I can’t be a perfect student and a perfect werewolf like you are,” Isaac stood up and began to walk around their small living room, huffing as he paced.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Scott asked, completely puzzled, looking at him from the sofa.

“I… I don’t know any more!” Isaac sat down again.

Scott brought him in a hug and soothed him, rubbing his back gently. Isaac took a deep breath and collapsed on his boyfriend’s lap.

“I don’t know why I am so scared about this exam.”

“You’ve sat exams before, Isaac,” Scott reassured him, planting a kiss on his head.

“I have, and I’ve never done well in them. I mean, I can write essays and assignments, no problem. In those, I have time to think and check and re-read. That’s why I liked writing my dissertation. But sitting in a room writing against the clock… That’s very different.”

“You’ll ace it, babe. And if you don’t, then it’s just an exam,” Scott insisted.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Isaac snarled. “You’re top of your class.”

“I’m _not_.”

“You’re almost there.”

“Ok, enough of this. Sit up,” Scott pushed Isaac up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. Isaac’s were tired and reddened. Scott flashed his red alpha eyes, and Isaac’s immediately shone back in golden yellow.

“Are you going to give me an alpha pep talk?” Isaac smiled.

“No!” by which he meant ‘yes’. Isaac saw through this thinly veiled excuse of a lie and managed to roll his eyes. Scott chuckled.

“Ok, go on then.”

“Isaac, you’re a frigging werewolf. You have faced things far worse than a written exam. Things with fangs, and claws, and wings.”

“And in one memorable occasion, tentacles coming out of their heads,” Isaac countered. “You understand that has nothing to do with actually putting my ideas down in writing during an exam?”

“I do, but that’s not my point. My point is that you have the will and determination to tackle whatever stands in your way. You’ve been studying like crazy, you have been drawing maps all week. Hell, I’ve heard you naming rocks and minerals as you walked! You clearly know your stuff, Isaac. And I’ve read your essays too. You can put together an argument, and back it up with examples.”

“But you don’t know if those examples were correct, or relevant!”

“But you stated your case beautifully. And that’s not just me: Lydia and Mason said so.” That was true: Lydia had video-called Isaac so they could go through some of the chapters of his dissertation together rather than via email, and Scott had heard how impressed the banshee had been. “If Lydia was happy with what you wrote, there is no way any old professor back in England correcting your exam is going to think differently!”

Scott was smiling wide again, holding Isaac’s hands in his.

“Well,” Isaac said with a cocky smile, even if his eyes told a different story. “I did impress Lydia Martin.”

“But??” Scott knew something else was simmering.

Isaac deflated and pulled his hands away from Scott’s. He passed his fingers through his curls and rubbed the back of his neck before speaking, avoiding eye contact.

“I want to impress you, Scott. I want you to be proud of me.”

“I _am_ proud of you, you silly boy,” Scott smiled.

“You say that, but I want to achieve something that you can be proud of.”

“Isaac, there’s no need for that, you know?”

“I- I… I don’t know. I can’t explain,” Isaac huffed as he squeezed one of the cushions and then lobbed it away to the armchair. “I just- It’s only that- I don’t…”

Isaac huffed and lowered his eyes, wishing he had not thrown that cushion away so he could hide behind it. Scott waited patiently for him to speak.

“I don’t want to fail and disappoint you,” he finally admitted.

Scott rolled his eyes with a smile and, knowing that his boyfriend was not looking, grabbed a cushion from behind him and hit Isaac with it on his head.

“Ouch!” the blond werewolf complained more in surprise than pain.

“You’re an idiot, Isaac,” Scott said with a big smile when his boyfriend looked up. “You really think that I will be disappointed in you if you fail an exam that the pack and I know that you won’t?”

Isaac felt Scott’s inner wolf playfully shaking his head and jumping around his own, nudging and nuzzling him occasionally.

Scott shook his head with a big grin across his face and hit Isaac with the cushion again.

“Oi!”

“Ok, listen to me, beta,” Scott joked. “You are going to get into that shower, come out to have a sit-down, home-cooked dinner, and then you’re going to have a nine-hour sleep.”

“Really, _alpha_? Am I now?” Isaac asked with a teasing look.

“Oh, _believe_ me,” Scott assured him with a brash smile. “Yes _you_ are. And I’m going to get in that shower with you to make sure you do.”

Isaac snorted and shook his head, but Scott simply kept smiling at him before pulling him into a kiss.

***

A couple of days later, Isaac was on the train back from San Francisco. Scott had offered to drive him there and bring him back, but Isaac had refused.

Isaac could not remember a thing about the exam he had just written. He had been so nervous and tense that he had snapped two pens as he waited outside the exam room. It was quite embarrassing when he had to walk to the front desk to borrow one. Then he walked into the examination room, found his desk, waited for the invigilators to read the instructions, and then… He went into autopilot. The next thing he remembered was the invigilators asking them to stop writing. Somehow, three hours had passed and he had written two booklets and a half worth of answers. He eyed his answers for a second, and saw that he had had time to draw a sketch map? Isaac handed his exam in, said goodbye politely, and then went straight to the toilet to splash some water on his face. Only when he was fully conscious of his surroundings did he ring Scott to tell him that he had finished and that all was well.

On the train back to Davis he got flashbacks of the exam, slowly and randomly. _Question 1: the following figure is a geological map of an area incised by two main rivers. The topography slopes across the area from high ground in the north-west corner… Figure 5 shows that the current speed required to initiate the erosion of a given grain size is always greater than the current speed ... Question 4b: Basaltic magmas form at divergent plate boundaries in the ocean basins (mid-ocean ridges). Basaltic magmas can also form…_ He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Outside he could see the train quickly dashing through central California.

He pulled his phone out.

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:08

Hey babe, you ok

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:08

Hey handsome!

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:08

Yeah, just packing up :(

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:09

U on the train yet?

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:09

yep

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:09

cool!

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:09

I’m picking u up from the station, right?

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:09

Yes pls x

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:09

17:20

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:09

Ok – will be there

<Scott> 24/06/2020 15:09

xx

They were going back to Beacon Hills that evening, and Scott had agreed to pack up for them while he was sitting his exam.

His phone buzzed again.

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:16

How did the exam go????

Isaac smiled. He had only met Liam in person a year before, when he first returned to California after the nemeton affair in France, but they immediately clicked. They teased each other to no end (or rather, Isaac teased Liam), but they really liked each other. Late in the previous winter, Isaac had gone on a field trip to the mountains of Montana for his dissertation, to which Scott could not go because he had labs to attend. Unexpectedly, Liam volunteered to go with him. That trip marked a turning point in their now close friendship. Now, whenever they put their heads together, Scott knew that they would be up to no good.

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:16

well I think

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:16

Only well?

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:16

lies!

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:16

u big nerd

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:17

Scott told us u were studying non stop

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:17

don’t u lie to me :(

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:17

lol

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:17

I can’t remember, really

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:17

It’s all a blur

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:17

There was a question with a map

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:18

How were your exams?

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:18

still one to go

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:18

But I was not the one freaking out

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:18

was not!

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:18

…

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:18

…

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:19

ok maybe I was

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:19

u scared scott once

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:19

I know :(

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:20

don’t worry

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:20

it’s all over now

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:20

ure an earth scientician now

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:20

u can tell us all bout rocks n trees n shit til were bored

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:20

watch it shortarse

<Liam> 24/06/2020 15:20

x

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:21

when are you back so I can tan your hide?

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 15:21

<3

They kept on texting back and forth like that for a while. Liam told him about his previous weeks, about his exams, and about how much he was looking forward to the end of year party on campus. They discussed future strategies for their online game and how they planned to team up against Stiles. Liam told Isaac about girls he was getting to know, and Isaac asked him if any of them would be coming to visit Beacon Hills any time soon. Isaac asked Liam about Mason and Corey, who had broken up, but he did not want to ask them directly (and he knew Liam was closest to Mason anyways). After a long catch up, Liam had to go to lacrosse practice, so they said their goodbyes.

However, his phone kept buzzing.

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:05

I HEARD YOU’RE OUR CHIEF EARTH SCIENTICIAN NOW :3

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:05

CONGRATS!

Isaac rolled his eyes. Because, of course, Liam would have spread that out.

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:07

a) I don’t have my exam results yet

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:07

b) don’t call me that

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:07

Or I’ll rip your throat

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:07

with my teeth

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:08

Woa easy there mini sourwolf

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:08

and we all know you’ve been studying like a maniac ;)

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:08

You calling me mini?

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:08

ok ok you can be sourwolf junior

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:08

OMG!!! SW jr!!!

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:09

Yeah well. I like to keep our long held pack threats

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

Well youll be just like your dad

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

all bark no bite

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

oh

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

shit

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

that’s not what I meant

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

Sorry Isaac

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

Didn’t mean your dad

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

as in your dad dad

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

I meant dad as in derek as in sourwolf senior

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:09

Stiles I know

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:09

no no im sorry Isaac

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:10

Stiles

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:11

what

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:11

we’re having this conversation cos SW sr actually bit me

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:11

he barks AND bites

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:11

So you’re wrong

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:11

AGAIN

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:11

BOOM

<Isaac> 24/06/2020 16:12

I win

<Stiles> 24/06/2020 16:12

Right. Lahey

Stiles and Isaac had always had a very odd friendship. Lydia told them once that they got on so well together because both were ‘sarcastic little shits’. At first they had been at opposite ends of werewolf politics, inasmuch as Isaac wanted to kill Lydia with Derek and Stiles was opposed to the plan. But as Isaac drifted towards Scott, their relationship became more amicable. When Isaac joined Scott’s pack, the timing of their respective sassy comments and incisive puns was usually off, which Isaac sometimes did on purpose to get on Stiles’ wick, but the previous summer Stiles finally digested and accepted what was Isaac’s true relationship with Scott. From then on, Stiles became more comfortable with ‘scarfboy’. Their shared geeky interests further cemented their newly-found friendship – to Scott’s great dismay.

They chatted for a short while. Stiles was waiting in the shopping centre while Lydia bought what Stiles described as her ‘Europe essentials’, which apparently included an entirely new wardrobe, and not just plug adapters. Lydia sent her congratulations as well, and soon after Stiles was forced to get moving.

Almost an hour later, Isaac was stepping off the train at the station, and Scott was waiting for him in shorts and a broad-striped t-shirt. He waved at his boyfriend and gave him a quick kiss.

“So, how did it go?” Scott asked as they got in the car. “I know you’ll say ‘well’, and I know that you are still processing it, but Mom said we should ring her when I picked you up because she was still at work, and that’s the first thing she’ll ask.”

“How fantastic,” Isaac moaned with a big smile.

“But how are you feeling now that you are done with all your university studies?”

Isaac pondered for a few seconds before answering. “I’m feeling hungry.”

“Wow,” Scott chuckled as he bobbed his head with a massive grin. “How deep. How profound.”

“That’s the new me. Deep like the ocean. Mature like cheese.”

Scott laughed as he tapped Isaac’s knee with his free hand.

***

“Scott, I’m mentally and physically exhausted,” Isaac complained from the bedroom as he got out of the shower. “Can we like… not drive back home tonight?”

“Don’t worry, I can drive us all the way,” Scott offered, still in the kitchen.

“I know, babe. But I’d really rather spend this one night just the two of us here. We can go home tomorrow morning. It’s not as if mum is waiting for us for dinner.”

Scott walked to their bedroom. His hands were covered in oil and he smelled strongly of garlic and onion. He had a kitchen cloth over his shoulder.

“Are we having spagbol?” Isaac asked when he saw his boyfriend. Spaghetti Bolognese was one of the five things Scott could cook without burning the kitchen down – and he was damn proud of it.

“Yeah. Are you sure you want to stay home tonight?” Scott asked.

“Please?” Isaac pouted.

“Ok, ok,” Scott grinned. “But _you_ ring Mom and tell her that we won’t be there for breakfast,” the alpha added the last threat with an accusatory pointy finger.

“I’ll tell Chris. He can tell her.”

“That’s cheating!” Scott said as he returned to the kitchen, but Isaac could feel he was laughing too.

Isaac put on a pair of shorts and his old bakery t-shirt and went to the kitchen, where Scott was preparing their dinner.

The pasta was surprisingly good this time (and Scott had cooked in abundance), so Isaac made sure to praise Scott for his cooking. He rang Chris but he also phoned Melissa, who was not happy; she had great plans to be taken for a nice breakfast in town by her two favourite werewolves, and she made sure that Isaac knew it was all _his_ fault that it was not happening.

Isaac helped Scott do the dishes and clear the kitchen away, before they brushed their teeth. Once in bed, Isaac felt all the exhaustion of the last weeks catching up with him. During the exam season he had lived in an adrenaline-fuelled and sleep-deprived rollercoaster of stress, but now that was all over. The moment his head hit the pillow he was dead to the world.

***

Sometimes Isaac wished that his dreams were announced by the plucking of harps, like in films, but he just knew he was dreaming because he clearly remembered getting in bed a few minutes before. He rolled his eyes and decided to let his subconscious take control of his dreamy-self and enjoy the ride. Next, he found himself walking through the Berkeley campus towards the building where he had had his exam that morning, still in the same shorts and t-shirt he had worn when he went to bed. Only that now he also had Scott’s two-banded tattoo on his own arm. He rubbed it with a big smile plastered on his face.

As he walked up the steps to the main entrance, everyone else seemed to be emptying the building. He tried to ask why they were leaving, when it was obvious that they should be heading _in_ , but they told him that they were late for the dinosaur show. It was a shame he had to sit his exam again, though.

When he walked into the building, he was not in his pyjamas anymore: he was in a nice pair of black trousers with a tight-fitting, light blue, button-up shirt. He picked his ball pen from the front desk and went into the examination room, where Scott was waiting for him.

“Hey, babe!” dreamy Scott called for him. He was only in his underwear and a sleeveless top. Something inside him felt warm and aroused. “Come and sit. I ordered food already.”

“But aren’t we waiting for Stiles?” Isaac asked as he sat down.

“He didn’t tell me if he was coming or not,” Scott answered as he ate his steak.

Isaac looked around, but the examination room was completely empty, except for the set table where Scott was having his meal.

“I don’t think I can eat, Scott. It would be rude to start without Stiles.”

“Stiles would be eating without us,” Scott added while he chewed.

“We can’t start our dinner without mum and dad, Cam,” Isaac cautioned Scott.

But Scott went through four more courses after his steak. Isaac did not have a mouthful, and he kept checking his watch, waiting for Stiles. Eventually, when Scott was finishing his ice-cream, Isaac heard the door opening. He turned around and noticed that they were now in their own small living room in Davis.

“There you are!” Stiles said as he let himself into their apartment.

“Hey, Stiles!” Scott waved.

“Hi, Scotty. You ok? And hello there, Isaac. Where have you been?”

“I was just here with Scott.”

“Dude, we were waiting for you!” Stiles said as he pulled him up from his chair and dragged him away to the front door.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t know.”

“You’ve missed lunch now!” his friend said as he shook his head.

“Bye, babe!” his boyfriend called out, still sat by the dining table. “Love you!”

“Love you, Scott!” Isaac replied before Stiles pulled him through the front door.

Stiles took Isaac out to the street.

“So, how was your exam?” Stiles asked as they walked down the road.

“I’m sure I’ve told you already.”

“I’m sure you’ve told Liam. You never told me.”

“Tell me what?”

Isaac looked ahead and saw Liam in his lacrosse kit, waiting for them, sat on the bonnet of a car.

“How my exam went,” Isaac explained.

“Oh, yeah. You told me. But what did they ask you? You didn’t tell me…”

_I didn’t tell him, because I couldn’t remember. Could I? Can I?_

Isaac stopped for a second, and suddenly it was as if he were reading the exam again. He had to answer five questions out of six in three hours. There were maps and diagrams he had to write a comment about. He answered one about river environment geology, one about fossil record, one about minerals, one about volcanism, and then he had to discuss a small article about shale gas extraction.

“Lydia would have loved that exam,” Stiles commented.

“I don’t think I could have answered any of that,” Liam shook his head.

“Well, thankfully it’s all over now,” Isaac concluded with a smile. “And anyway, where are we going?”

“What?” Stiles stopped in the middle of the road when he realised that his taller friend had asked him directly.

“Yeah, you came looking for us, Stiles,” Liam explained. “You told me to wait over there while you fetched Isaac.”

“I did what?”

“How very typical,” Isaac chuckled.

“Watch it, Lahey!” Stiles frowned.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it was nowhere important.”

“But… I don’t remember knowing where we had to go.”

“Probably to the end of this road,” Liam pointed out.

They were on a tarmacked road, now in the middle of the preserve – they left the Davis apartment far behind. The forest around them was thick to the point of being seemingly impassable. The road only led downhill, where they could see it turned into a dirt track.

“That does not look very inviting, Stiles.”

“Now that you mention it, you’re right.”

“Damn!” Isaac shouted.

“What?”

“I wish I could have recorded that.”

“Record what?”

“You admitting aloud that _I_ was right,” Isaac said with a cocky grin. “I would have turned it into my ring tone for whenever you call me.”

“I’d stop phoning you,” Stiles sulked.

“Oh, no you wouldn’t!”

“Stiles, he’s right,” Liam agreed with Isaac as they fist-bumped. “You will phone him eventually. You like him too much.”

“Thank you Liam,” Isaac said. “I knew you were becoming my favourite packmate for a reason.”

“It’s my charming smile.”

“Enough you two!” Stiles shouted. “You’re getting too close. I don’t like it. And are we going to go to the end of this road or not?”

“It’s your call, Stiles,” Isaac offered. “You’re the one who dragged us here.”

Stiles stood there for a second, thinking carefully. Meanwhile, Isaac picked up his crosse and a ball and passed it to Liam, who caught it easily and then passed it back.

“Stop it! I’m trying to think!”

Liam huffed, but Isaac simply poked their friend with his stick.

“Come on, forget about that,” the taller werewolf said as he slung his crosse over his shoulder. “Let’s go back to mine. We can play on my Xbox.”

Liam and Stiles agreed, even if Stiles kept muttering to himself, trying to remember where he was planning to go with those two werewolves. Liam was fidgeting with the lacrosse ball, while Isaac lazily kept his stick behind his shoulders, his left hand gripping the end loosely and his right one fidgeting with the shooting strings of his crosse.

_Hang on – where did I get my crosse from?_

***

Isaac woke up on the edge of the bed, Scott cuddled possessively against him. His boyfriend had his arms around his waist, his crotch (firmly) pressed against his lower side, his legs gripping one of his. Scott also had his head resting on Isaac’s chest. The beta had his right arm wrapping Scott’s shoulders.

He checked his phone, and it was almost waking up time. Isaac kissed Scott’s head as he pushed him away and went to drink some water, shaking his head as he went through his dream.

 _You need to stop eating that much before going to bed, Lahey_.

***

They had planned to have a quick breakfast before driving back to Beacon Hills, but those plans were out the window when Isaac opened the fridge.

“Scott!” Isaac called with a smile, as he shook his head with incredulity. “Scott!”

“What?” his boyfriend called from their bedroom.

“I thought we were going to finish the food in the fridge before going?”

“We didn’t?” Scott said with a confused expression as he walked into the kitchen.

Isaac chuckled.

“Let’s just say we’re having a large breakfast.”

He hated throwing food away.

An hour later they were finally ready. They made sure their apartment was tidy, they loaded the Jeep, they texted Melissa, and they were on their way.

Scott drove during the first half of their trip, while Isaac half-napped, half-admired the views from the passenger seat. They were listening to whatever was on the radio, not paying particular attention to it. Or so Isaac thought. From the corner of his eye, he saw Scott tapping the wheel rhythmically and shaking his shoulders to the beat. It took Isaac a second to process everything and then he could not help himself.

“Scott _McCall_!” he shouted, startling his boyfriend.

“Whoa, don’t _do_ that when I’m driving! I thought you were asleep!”

“You were dancing to the radio,” Isaac sneered, as the song kept on playing. Scott reddened.

“Oh, I… Maybe. It’s a catchy song.”

“Scott, you were dancing to Madonna?”

“No I was not!” Scott jumped, perhaps too quickly.

“Don’t you lie to me, Scott. Is that what you listen to in the shower when I’m not home?”

“No…”

“Oh my God, this is too good to be true,” Isaac grinned. “Scott McCall, True Alpha, dancing to _Material Girl_.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were, babe. There’s no shame in it. It’s a great song.”

“Was not,” Scott mumbled under his breath, positively beetroot now.

“Were too,” Isaac kept on teasing. “I thought you were just the hot girl, but you’re also a material one.”

“Any way,” Scott changed topic still blushing as he turned the radio off, making Isaac giggle. “How do you feel today about your exam?”

Isaac gave his boyfriend a grin which clearly indicated that he was willing to change topic, but that in no way was he ever going to forget what he had just seen.

“Well, I think I finally remembered the questions. I think I knew all the answers. I think I did all ok,” he said as he nodded to himself with a side smile.

“Was there a question about your dissertation?”

“Not really. But you remember that last book I asked if you could take out for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that was a life saver for one of the questions.”

“I told you you would ace it, babe,” Scott beamed as he squeezed Isaac’s knee.

“Yeah, well… I’m that smart. I finished before all of you.”

“That’s true, babe,” Scott laughed. “Although you’ll find that Jackson has finished this summer as well. And so has Lydia.” Jackson and Isaac had done three-year degrees, but Lydia had simply finished a year early. “So, what are you going to do this coming year?”

Scott and Isaac had already discussed this, because Scott still had one more year, but Isaac had never given a definitive answer.

“Don’t worry; you know I’ll stick around. God knows what would happen to this pack without me around!”

“I don’t want you to get bored in Davis now that your course is over, Isaac.”

“I won’t get bored. I’ll still be working for Chris. I’m sure he’ll keep me busy.”

“You’re going to go out _hunting_?” Scott turned around, dropping his jaw.

“Eyes on the road!” Isaac warned him. “No, Scott, I won’t go hunting. You know we- I mean… the Argents… _they_ don’t do that anymore. But I’ve been thinking.”

“And can you tell me what you’ve been thinking?”

Isaac pondered for a few seconds, looking out the window and then looking down at his hands. Scott let him have a moment. They had never discussed what the future was going to be, although they had assumed that Scott would go back to Beacon Hills to be a vet and that Isaac would go back too. Nobody had mentioned France, but Scott had a nagging fear that it was an option on the table.

“Well, I don’t think I’ll do a graduate course. I should have applied for that already, for starts. And it’d be too long and too expensive... I’ll keep on working with Chris, I guess. In case a supernatural emergency happens again.”

“Don’t be so negative. We don’t know if there is going to be one.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what Stiles used to complain about,” Isaac remembered. “And we can’t be sure. If I got a normal office job and I had to spend half a month trying to stop a kanima or whatever, then I’d get fired. And I don’t have a vault full of treasure to live off of like Peter.”

“What about a state ranger?” Scott offered. “You’re an earth scientician—“ He added with a knowing smile, but Isaac cut him short.

“Stop saying that!” Isaac growled. “That’s not even a word!”

Scott chuckled, and Isaac punched him in the arm.

“Ouch! You should punch Liam! He made that up!”

“You’d tell me off if I punched him.”

“Yes I would.”

“And that’s why you get the punch. Anyways, there’s no state park anymore. And last time we had one you know what happened.” _One of those rangers was the leader of a cult that was conniving with the aliens. That’s what happened._

“Well, something similar. Something to put your degree to good use. Maybe you could ask the Sheriff?”

“Do you want half of your pack working there?” Malia had started working at the station in the spring. “Who’d be next? _Derek_?”

“I don’t think I’ll see the day when Derek gets a normal job. And Deputy Derek sounds like a bad cowboy comedy.”

Isaac opened his eyes wide and pulled his phone out. He began to text furiously.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked, slightly worried.

“Babe, you’re amazing.”

“Isaac?”

“Just give me a second,” Isaac asked, sticking his tongue out, punching his phone like a maniac.

“What are you writing?”

“Aaaaand… done!” he concluded with a smug expression.

Scott felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. After a few seconds of quiet expectation, both their phones buzzed in unison. Over and over again.

“What have you done?”

“Oh, nothing…” Isaac said, nonchalantly. “I just texted your wonderful idea of ‘Deputy Derek: Cowboy Cop’ to the pack.” Their phones kept buzzing. “I think Stiles liked the idea.”

“Oh God…”

“Don’t worry, babe. I won’t take any credit. I specifically said that it was _your_ idea.”

Scott shook his head and started laughing.

“He’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah, well,” Isaac dismissed. “I’ll be a deputy myself. The Sheriff will protect me.”

“No, but seriously, babe. I think that maybe the Sheriff can create a position or something for you to work supervising the preserve and the rest of the forest bits of Beacon County.”

“Have you got a clue about how a sheriff’s office works?”

“Nope.”

“I think you just want to see me in uniform. With a ranger’s hat.”

Scott arched an eyebrow and sneered. “Maybe…”

“You’re a dork.”

Scott and Isaac laughed at that, and soon returned to their quiet and calm driving routine. An hour later they stopped for petrol, and Isaac raided the gas station shop for snacks and drinks. They swapped sides, and Isaac drove the rest of the way.

“Do you know when the rest of the pack will be back?” Isaac asked when they finally exited the I-5.

“What do you mean?”

“When are we all going to be back in Beacon Hills again?”

“Oh, well… I think that they’ll all be back at some point next week. Liam is coming the day after tomorrow. Jackson and Ethan are flying already, aren’t they?”

Isaac bit his bottom lip as he tried to remember, and eventually nodded.

“Mason is coming after Liam,” the alpha continued his list. “I think Stiles and Lydia will be the last ones, because I seem to remember her saying something about a conference, so they’ll be there by the end of the month. Malia and Derek are already there, although she will be working – I don’t think she has any holidays yet.” Scott stopped for a second as he thought. “I think that’s all?”

“You’re going to need a PA soon.”

“I thought _you_ were my secretary.”

“You wish!”

Scott chuckled

“What’s happening on the Fourth of July?”

“I don’t think anyone will be willing to go out and celebrate, Isaac.”

“I know,” Isaac rolled his eyes. Last year, on the Fourth of July, the secret mi-go cult tried to take over the village. “But I mean us. The pack. I still think we should have a barbecue and pool party at Jackson’s.”

“You can ask him then,” Scott nodded. “I’d be up for that. But no more supernatural shit, please.”

“I can’t promise that, but I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve mentioned in passing Liam’s and Isaac’s trip to Montana in this chapter. This refers to the "The Mists of the Silver Towers", the ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ story with both of them which I have unhelpfully added to the series only now. I’m sorry!


	3. Re-encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Isaac woke up, the memory of the dream was fresh in his head. There were all the starry ceiling decorations, and Melissa, and the baby, but that all was sort of understandable. But then there was the other stuff. It was a dream, after all, so it should not be surprising that Liam could pull a shirt with his own number when Isaac told him that they could not have the same jersey. But Liam seemed positively confused (almost scared), as if that should not have happened.
> 
> OR: Scott and Isaac begin their long summer holidays in Beacon Hills, but things get wierd when Isaac is asleep

When Scott and Isaac finally got to Beacon Hills, it was lunch time. They parked the Jeep on the driveway and saw Chris opening the door for them.

“Welcome home, boys.”

“Hi, Chris.”

Scott and Isaac gave him a quick hug before they unloaded the car.

“How was the drive?” Chris asked as he helped them with their stuff.

“Oh, nothing exciting. Quite boring.”

“Your mother is working today,” Chris said in general. Scott and Isaac never really knew if he meant she was only Scott’s or rather their mother. “But we want you to stay for dinner tonight. We’re going out.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Scott agreed cheerfully.

“Yeah, half of the pack is not here yet anyways,” Isaac added. “We will go and see Malia and Derek tomorrow.”

“There’s some food in the fridge if you want to have lunch,” Chris told them when he dropped one of the boys’ suitcases. “I’ve got to go now, but I wanted to wait for you to arrive.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Chris,” Scott said.

“Is this the Dupont meeting?” Isaac asked, obviously in the know.

“No, that’s all sorted. This is… it’s something else.”

“Oh, is it a surprise?”

“That’s none of your business,” Chris replied with an enigmatic smile. “You’ll find out soon enough. See you later, boys!”

“Bye!”

“What was all that about?” Scott asked after Chris shut the door behind him.

“I think we’ll find out soon enough,” Isaac smirked. He walked to the fridge and pulled out the meal that Melissa had left for them. “But I think I know what it is all about. Hungry?”

They heated two large bowls of chili con carne and ate them in the kitchen.

“So,” Isaac said with a mouth full of rice and beans. “What are we doing about the wedding?”

Scott huffed and dropped his head until his forehead hit the table. Melissa and Chris got engaged last Christmas, and were planning an autumn wedding. The invitations had all been sent and the venue had been chosen – but with precise instructions not to tell the bride about the location, which Chris was trying to keep secret at all costs.

“Do you think that is what Chris is doing now? Getting things ready?”

“I think he is sorting the catering or something.”

“So he’s going to the mission?”

Isaac shrugged his shoulders. Melissa had been nagging Chris about the old Spanish mission ever since they got engaged. That was where her grandmother insisted that they should get married, but Chris had said that he would take care of everything and was keeping his cards close to his chest. It was taking a lot of effort to make sure that nobody spilled the beans.

“I think that my mom will try to extort the location out of me,” Scott said shaking his head, which made Isaac laugh. “And I’m weak! I’ll crack and tell her eventually!”

“Well, now you should consider what would be worse: your mother trying to extract that vital information from you or Chris finding out that you have spoiled the surprise.”

Scott feigned a shiver going down his spine, and Isaac laughed.

“What about you? How’s your side of things?”

Isaac pulled his phone out and showed him a group chat which he had titled ‘Groomsmen, Assemble!’. Scott rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got my side all under control.”

“You’re taking Chris Argent, as in _hunter_ Chris Argent, on a stag do?”

“No!” Isaac denied. Scott sighed in relief. “No. No, no. Not at all. Of course not. Maybe.” Scott froze, and Isaac giggled.

“I don’t know if I want to be there or not…”

“What kind of debauched event do you think I’m planning?” Isaac asked. “And does that mean that you are not taking your mum on a hen night?”

“Do I have to?”

“Scott, the wedding is in four months,” Isaac deadpanned. “You volunteered to help.”

“And I spent an afternoon putting invitations in envelopes!”

“I think she may want some more help. Have you asked your aunts?”

Scott had two aunts and various cousins who lived near Sonoma where they had a respectable vineyard. Isaac had met them once.

“No?”

“Well… you might as well. Have you asked Lydia?”

“No?”

“You may want to ask her too.”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Scott pushed his bowl and then covered his face with his hands.

“Just breathe, babe,” Isaac laughed. “It’ll all be ok.”

“How can it all be ok if you have got all of Chris’ stuff ready and I have nothing?”

“Scott, stop thinking about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“That’s ok,” Scott huffed and, despite what he had said, he tucked into his chili.

“The important question is if we will be brothers after the wedding.”

“That’s not how it works,” Scott said with a mouthful of chili.

“Just think about it,” Isaac purposefully ignored Scott. “You’ll have to take my name.”

“Why? How?”

“Well, it’s your mum marrying my dad. She’ll become an Argent. It just follows you must become a Lahey.”

Scott sniggered. “Scott Lahey sounds nice.”

“I know right?” Isaac continued. “It’s just a pity about the kids.”

“What kids?”

“Our incestuous sibling spawn.”

“Ew, gross!” Scott chuckled at Isaac’s joke.

“It’s a shame, you know… Webbed feet and all,” Isaac kept going on.

“Isaac, you know that’s _not_ how it works.”

“Oh, so now you don’t want to have kids?” Isaac feigned indignation, and Scott could only laugh.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yep. But I’m your idiot. How lucky are you?”

***

When Melissa got back home she covered her two boys in kisses and hugs. Scott tried to wriggle away, but Isaac let her do it without complaint – it was something that he had thought he would never get again. Chris got home while Melissa was in the shower getting ready. He gave the two werewolves yet another mysterious smile and refused to say where he had been. But before they could pry any information out of him, Mrs McCall came down wearing a beautiful new summer dress.

“Wow, Mom? _Where_ are we going for dinner?”

“Yes, Melissa,” Isaac mumbled, equally impressed. “I feel very underdressed now.” He was wearing shorts and a loose and creased short-sleeved shirt.

“We didn’t know we had to, like, dress up properly!” Scott complained.

“I will take those as compliments,” she said with a wry smile. “That’s ok, you don’t need to make an effort tonight.”

“Just ignore them,” Chris told her fiancée. “And you two, get in the car.”

Chris drove them to a nice fish restaurant, decorated with naval paraphernalia, including various knotted lengths of rope, wheels, bottled ships, liferings, and a treasure chest in the lobster tank. They celebrated the end of their exams and drank a couple of bottles of wine. Chris and Melissa shamelessly took advantage that neither Scott nor Isaac had to worry about drink-driving to gulp their fair share of the wine. The meal was excellent and the desserts were spectacular. They had, overall, a fantastic evening and before they got in the car, Isaac thanked Chris for all he had done for him–that incredible dinner included. Chris shook his head with a tipsy smile and mumbled something or other about family. Neither would ever admit to having seen a tear or two in each other’s eyes.

They got home and each couple went to their respective bedrooms, bidding each other goodnight.

In Scott’s room (which was also temporarily Isaac’s) very little had changed in the last couple of years. The bed was now against the window, so there was more space in the room. Scott had kept his posters and most of his stuff, but Isaac had a chest of drawers for his clothes and his own desk. It was a tight fit for both of them, but they lived most of the year in Davis, so it was not a problem.

Once they brushed their teeth, Scott and Isaac got into bed. They cuddled together for comfort, lacing their fingers and exchanging kisses until both felt their heartbeats slow down in unison. But it was way too warm that night to sleep huddled together, so they ended up rolling to their respective side of the bed. Isaac clearly remembered that, and when his eyes opened he found himself in a dream.

Isaac saw himself standing on a bed in a bedroom, which had to be _his_ , even if he did not recognise the furniture. He was in the middle of sticking something on the ceiling.

“Are you sure that goes there?” dreamtime Scott asked.

“I am very sure,” Isaac replied. “I’ve seen them enough times, and I have the star chart here.”

“I can’t wait to see it.”

“Are you done yet?” Melissa walked into the room without knocking. Then Isaac could see that, of all things, she was carrying a toddler in her arms.

“Hi, Mom. Hello, chubby cheeks!” Scott cooed at the little boy.

“Ok, I think it’s done. Ready to see what your uncle Isaac has been working on?”

“’Ncle Zac!” the toddler clapped his hands.

Isaac smiled and gave Scott a nod. His boyfriend turned the lights off.

The bedroom ceiling glowed with a million tiny points of light against an absolute black background. They were not the usual dull yellowy-green glow-in-the-dark stars: these were multi-coloured points of bright light, forming constellations and galactic clouds. It looked like a close-up of a star cluster or a distant nebula, a window to the far reaches of the dark universe in his own bedroom.

“Who knew you were an artist, Isaac?” Melissa congratulated him, and Scott gave him a quick kiss. “Oh, and before I forget. Liam came to see you.”

Isaac sighed. He went to turn the lights back on, but Scott told him to leave them off. The beta nodded with a smile and looked back at the constellations he had made on the ceiling. One of them seemed particularly familiar. He had put all those stars there, but now he could not remember placing those in that particular order. Isaac certainly did not remember putting that large green star in the centre. It looked good, though.

When he opened the door, he stepped into one of the high school’s corridors. Isaac was in his old lacrosse 14 shirt, but he was barefoot.

“Hey, Isaac!” Liam called, wearing also a number 14 shirt. “Nice shoes.”

“Hi, Liam. What did you want? And why do you have my number on?”

“What are you talking about?” Liam looked puzzled at his friend.

“ _I’m_ number 14,” Isaac pointed at the number on his chest.

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am! And I’m very sure about it,” Isaac insisted, pointing at his own chest.

“Oh, that’s ok. What about now?” Liam said as he pulled the shirt off and revealed he had another one underneath with number 9.

“Were you wearing that underneath?”

“No,” Liam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft. I had- it just- I mean... it just happened?”

Isaac and Liam stood still, looking at each other and at their surroundings. A cold wind swept along the corridor. Something felt out of place. Something should not have happened. Isaac opened his eyes.

***

When Isaac woke up, the memory of the dream was fresh in his head. There were all the starry ceiling decorations, and Melissa, and the baby, but that all was _sort of_ understandable: he and Scott had been discussing the wedding, and being brothers, so Isaac was willing to concede that that was a normal dream inspired by the day events. But then there was the other stuff. It _was_ a dream, after all, so it should not be surprising that Liam could pull a shirt with his own number when Isaac told him that they could not have the same jersey. But Liam seemed positively confused (almost scared), as if that should not have happened. Why would Liam behave like that in his dream?

Isaac let a growl of annoyance out as he rolled out of bed and got ready for the day ahead.

Scott drove them to the Sheriff station just before noon, where they were meeting Malia. They would also take the chance to say hello to the Sheriff and Parrish, whom they had not seen in a while.

They parked behind their usual diner and walked into the station. As soon as they crossed the door, they saw Malia at a desk, typing hard and growling at the screen. The deputy at the entrance knew them and let them in. The station was quiet and calm, which was unexpected. But it also felt _emptier_ than usual, and it was no secret that a number of deputies had quitted and left town, and that the Sheriff had not really felt the need to open more positions as the town continued its steady decline.

“Hello, boys,” Parrish surprised them, appearing from behind and clamping his hands on their shoulders. Both werewolves nearly jumped off their skin.

“Hey, Parrish,” Scott said first. “How are you?”

Malia turned around when she heard Parrish and Scott. She smiled at them and put her hand up with all fingers extended. She’d be ready in five minutes.

“Hi, Jordan,” Isaac shook the deputy’s hand.

“Congratulations, Isaac,” the young deputy added with a grin. “We’ve been told that you finished all your exams?”

“Yeah, well,” Isaac still felt a bit uncomfortable with people congratulating him. “It was just the one.”

“And thank God it was just one,” Malia said in a low tone as she continued typing, knowing that the other werewolves could hear her. “From what we heard he nearly did not survive it.”

Isaac glared at their friend as Scott chuckled.

“Is the Sheriff in?” Scott asked.

“Yeah,” Jordan nodded emphatically. “I guess he can spare a couple of minutes so see you. Let me ask him.”

Parrish walked off to the Sheriff’s office while Isaac and Scott strolled towards Malia.

“How’s the old deputy lark going?” Isaac asked with his hands in his pockets.

“It’s ok,” the werecoyote replied, her eyes fixed on the screen, biting a well-chewed pencil. “But there is _so_ much paperwork! It’s insane… I’ll be ready in a minute, though.”

“No hurries, we’re seeing the Sheriff first,” Scott told her.

“Speak of the Devil,” Isaac pointed at the far corner of the station, where they saw Stiles’ dad waving at them.

“Hello, you two!” he said as he shook their hands and patted their shoulder.

“Hello, Sheriff.” Both werewolves said with mirroring smiles.

“Come on in,” the Sheriff waved them into his office. “How are you doing? Hang on—this is a purely social visit, right?”

Isaac and Scott raised their eyebrows and pulled a well-practiced serious face. The Sheriff closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as he sighed. But before he could ask any more Isaac and Scott laughed out loud.

“Don’t you dare try that again,” the Sheriff said shaking his head. “You’ll give me a heart attack.”

“Bagsy _not_ telling Stiles,” Isaac rose his hand as Scott covered his eyes with his hand.

“Tell him what?” the Sheriff asked, not understanding.

“Telling him that we gave you a heart attack because of a supernatural joke,” Scott said, still covering his face while Isaac grinned.

The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “Come on. I think I deserve a doughnut and a coffee. Malia, you coming?”

“Coming, boss!” she smiled as she turned her screen off and swirled on her chair.

“Parrish?”

“Nah, not this time, sorry.”

They said goodbye to Parrish and headed for the diner, where they occupied one of the window booths; Scott and Isaac on one bench and Noah and Malia on the other. They discussed the latest events in Beacon Hills, which thankfully had not been many, but they quickly moved on to different topics. Malia mostly moaned in good humour about her work at the station. The Sheriff nodded emphatically and added details about how well she was doing and how useful it was to have someone else in the know about the supernatural in the force – although he did not say it in so many words. They talked about Scott and Isaac’s life in Davis (even if Melissa kept the Sheriff regularly updated), and ended up talking about Isaac’s exams and his plans for the future.

“I was thinking—” Scott said, looking at the Sheriff with a confident smile and winking at Malia.

“Scott, please don’t,” Isaac interrupted, blushing slightly. Scott shushed him and ignored his plea.

“I was thinking that maybe Isaac could become a deputy as well. He could be in charge of the preserve and the forests and all that stuff. A position where he can put all his... erm…” Scott looked furtively around before adding in a lower voice, “ _abilities_ and his degree to a good use.”

Scott was confident as ever. He rose his eyebrows with a big smile as he reclined back against the wall of the booth, indicating that he had had the greatest idea of the decade, but Noah could see on Isaac’s face that the beta was not that convinced. The Sheriff turned to his side to look at Malia, who had seen the same two different reactions and shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, Scott,” the Sheriff had a long sip of his coffee, “I imagine that could be a good idea, and it is certainly a possibility that such a position could be created… but it would depend on Isaac and on what he prefers to do,” Isaac gave a small ‘thank you’ smile. The Sheriff continued. “I mean, we are in no hurry, are we Isaac?”

“Well… I am still working for Chris, and I can do that while in Davis,” Isaac explained, making vague circles with his hand. “Once Scott finishes and we move back we’ll see what happens, right?”

Everyone seemed happy with that, and they did not push the subject any further. Not long after, the Sheriff checked his watch and decided he better return to the office, but he let Malia stay with the two werewolves, who were meeting Derek for lunch.

Derek was meeting them at the diner, so the three of them stayed in the same booth talking about their plans for the summer. Isaac, Malia, and Scott shared the same thought, that it was going to be a year since the entire town was nearly taken over by an evil cult that tried to open a portal to another planet, but they consciously did not mention it. They focused on a day out to the lake, potential barbeques, and reunion dinners with the rest of the pack once they were all back.

It was almost one o’clock when Derek finally turned up, silently apologising for his delay with an expressive eyebrow wriggle and a well-timed shoulder shrug. He waved at Isaac and Scott as he sat by his cousin.

“How have you two been?” Derek asked with curious sincerity. He then pointed at Isaac with his finger. “And you just finished your final exams, right?”

The taller beta felt an unexpected wave of pride coming from Derek, and smiled warmly before talking about the exams. The explanation he gave was the longest and most elaborate answer about the exams Scott had heard his boyfriend give in the last two days. Scott looked silently at Isaac as he talked to Derek, giving expressive descriptions with his hands about some rock or another.

Isaac and his former alpha had an odd relationship: Derek had given him the chance of a completely new life with the Bite, and had taught him werewolf control 101, but his methods had not been the kindest. He eventually forced Isaac out of what was left of his pack in quite a brutal way, despite the beta’s attempts to help Derek after the deaths of Erica and Boyd. Before Derek could apologise or fix whatever relationship they had at that stage, Isaac left for France with Chris. That had seemed to be the end of the story. But then, last summer, they got in contact again, and it seemed that they had reached a silent agreement to leave the past behind. Derek had no interest in starting a pack of his own or to get Isaac to follow him (and it was not only because he knew that he would never be able to separate Isaac from Scott), but Derek had bitten him, so they still shared a special bond. Whatever had happened, Derek still cared about Isaac beyond being pack.

They finished their lunch and waved Malia good-bye because she had to go back to work. The three remaining pack members walked out of the diner and sat outside, basking in the sun and talking about unimportant things. Derek even told them about his life, which he hardly did, including about what he was planning to do over the summer and about how Cora might be coming back to Beacon Hills.

Eventually, Scott received a text from Melissa, asking them if they would pick her up from the hospital. Isaac checked the time and realised that they should get going. They said their goodbyes, promising to do things together over the summer before going on their separate ways.

***

Jackson and Ethan arrived that very night. Isaac wanted to go and pick them up from the airport, but Ethan told him that Mr Whittemore had already offered to drive them back, for which Scott was glad. It was not that the alpha did not want to see their friends, but he wanted to avoid the long drive only a day after having driven basically the same long route.

The following afternoon, however, a fidgety Isaac dragged Scott to Jackson’s house to spend the day there with the two other betas, swimming trunks included.

“Why are you so twitchy today?” Scott said, carefully fixing Isaac’s hair before they got ready to leave the car.

“I’m not?” Isaac replied too harshly, ruffling his hair and undoing Scott’s work.

“Ok, babe, what’s bothering you?” Scott could feel that Isaac was not all right.

“Nothing…” Isaac lied, avoiding eye contact.

“This has nothing to do with the anniversary, right?”

That week had been the first anniversary of Isaac’s encounter with the cult back in the French village where he had been living for the previous three years. His focus on the final exam had kept Isaac too busy and absorbed for him to notice, but since the couple had returned to Beacon Hills the beta had had time to realise that it had been an entire year since his life had been turned upside down. It had been mostly for the better, but it had left scars. Ethan and Jackson had played an important role in those events, especially during the early days when the couple and Isaac were still in France trying to find clues about the cult, and that had brought them closer.

Isaac took a deep breath. “Babe, I… I’m fine,” he assured unconvincingly. “I can’t explain why, but I feel anxious… I need to see them to make sure they’re ok.”

Scott smiled and placed a hand on his knee.

“That’s completely normal. They’re important to you because… well… because they’re pack. But perhaps more so because they were there for you in France, right?” Scott asked and Isaac nodded silently, staring at his hands.

“ _You_ ’re important to me,” Isaac added after a short while.

“I hope I am!” Scott chuckled. “But you see me every day—“

“Yeah… it gets tiresome at times,” Isaac looked sideways at Scott with a smirk. Scott huffed and Isaac giggled briefly.

“Get your ass out of my car and ring the bell,” the alpha ordered with fake indignation, leaning over Isaac and opening the car door for him. Isaac took advantage of his boyfriend’s position to land a kiss on his cheek before doing as he was told.

As Scott grabbed their bag from the back of the car, Jackson opened the door with a tired smile and big circles under his eyes.

“You look like shit,” Isaac said. “And I’m sure it’s not the jet lag.”

“I’ll get better with some sleep, arsehole. You’ll still be a loser in the morning,” Jackson replied coldly.

“Just let them in!” Ethan called from inside the house.

At that point, both Jackson and Isaac grinned wide, happy to see each other for the first time in nine months. Isaac stepped forward, giving his friend a tight hug as he kissed the top of his head. Jackson let him do it gladly – he was sincerely happy to see Isaac again, even if he would not put it in so many words. Isaac walked into the house and repeated the same greeting with Ethan.

“You never came to visit,” Ethan told Isaac after greeting Scott. “You said you’d come for Easter.”

“I know,” Isaac shook his head. They had talked about it, and even looked at flights, but their plans had come to nothing in the end. Now that Ethan rose the issue, Isaac knew deep inside that his worry about Jackson and Ethan was partly guilt for the broken promise. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok,” Ethan forgave him lightly with a big smile. And with that, all of Isaac’s anxieties seemed to vanish. His friends were back, his pack was slowly gathering again. The anniversary did not matter anymore.

Jackson was quick to lead them to the garden, where there was a tub full of beers on ice, which the host immediately distributed. They sat down on the hammocks and were soon deep in conversation about what they had been doing during the months they had not seen each other. Most of the stories and anecdotes were not new, because the boys had kept in contact almost daily (Jackson and Isaac certainly had), but it did not matter. They were enjoying being back together.

They talked about what their plans were for the future, especially now that Jackson had graduated, but he revealed that he was going to do a master’s degree in Cambridge. Apparently, Jackson could have stayed in Oxford for his graduate course, but they had decided that it would be nice to be there for Lydia (who was going to be doing a combined graduate programme half in Cambridge, half in the MIT) whenever she had to be in England.

“But no one dare turn our place into a pack house!” Jackson threatened seriously, which caused Ethan to roll his eyes. Scott and Isaac tried to hold a chuckle, failed miserably, and it turned into a loud laugh.

They swam in the pool, played table tennis, and ordered pizzas. When they drank all the beers they opened another crate. When the sun set, Jackson was snoozing on an inflatable ring in the pool while the other three werewolves talked about the rest of the pack. Later that night, and before Isaac and Scott had to go back home, Ethan proposed a toast.

“Really?”

“Shut _up_ , Jackson,” Scott joked.

“No! This is my house, and I won’t shut up,” Jackson insisted. “What are we toasting to?”

“We’re toasting to our amazing boyfriends,” Ethan said, looking at Scott, “who have finished all their exams – even if we never thought they’d get that far.”

Both Jackson and Isaac blushed slightly, but they lifted their cans in the air.

“And we’re also going to toast to the upcoming summer, which is going to be incredible,” Scott said in a tone which suggested that he had something in mind.

Isaac looked at his boyfriend with curiosity, before grinning and toasting again. “And to a summer without any supernat—“

“Don’t say it,” Jackson interrupted, pointing at Isaac with his can.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you were going to say about supernatural shit,” Jackson said. “Don’t say it! You’ll _jinx_ it!”

“You know you just—“

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Jackson replied dismissively before Isaac could point out the irony. The taller beta shook his head with an incredulous grin before bringing his friend into a one-armed hug.

They ended up toasting to an entire summer with a reunited pack before Scott and Isaac went back home.

Later that evening, as both werewolves went to bed, a star rose in the eastern horizon unnoticed. A star which was usually dull in a faint and low-lying constellation. But it was, nevertheless, a special star; a star which a little boy some years ago saw and claimed as his. This star happened to be the Heart of the Wolf. The Wolf Star. And this coincidence had not passed unnoticed.

***

Isaac was in a nondescript room, one with beige walls and boring furniture. As far as he gathered, it was the same house where he had decorated a ceiling with an entire universe, but he was not sure. For some obscure reason he was trying to finish his chemistry homework (which he loathed) there, sat at a large dining table. Meanwhile, and behind him, Peter and Derek were on a grey couch, watching television. The TV set was ancient, inasmuch as it was as deep as it was wide, and the couch was so small that the two other werewolves had to sit cosily together. There were small doilies on the television and on the arm-rests of the sofa. The coffee table had two overly decorated tea sets of fine china. The entire room gave a grandmotherly vibe with which Isaac was not particularly comfortable.

“Can you turn that down?” Isaac, exasperated, moaned about the loud television. “I’m trying to finish my homework.”

“Why are you doing your homework in the living room, then?” Peter said, not bothering to look at him.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you worked in your room?” Derek suggested.

“I don’t have a room anymore, Cam,” Isaac reminded them, dropping his pen on the table.

 _Cam_.

The name echoed in the room faintly. Isaac shook his head and focused on his notebook, which was blurry, and he could not really read what was written on it. He rubbed his eyes as he leanet back against the chair.

“Are those for Mr Harris?” Derek asked, pointing at the tall pile of exercise books Isaac still had to do.

“Yeah,” the tall werewolf admitted, giving up on his homework as he stood up and picked up a keytar from the corner. “I just can’t finish them. There’s always more!”

He started playing a tune he remembered from a film he used to watch when he was little. Not that he ever learnt how to play the keytar, of course, but it was a dream after all. ( _Why on Earth am I playing a keytar? Of all instruments, I dream that I play the lamest one?_ ). The song was one he had not heard in ages, but somehow his brain decided to fish it out from his memories. It was comfortingly familiar. The film it came from was one of Cam’s favourites, the one they used to watch on Sunday afternoons when mum and dad went to have coffee with their friends. They would plug the old VCR and play the videocassette. Isaac smiled. He sat on the swing that hung by the sofa as he kept playing the song.

“When did you learn to play that… _thing_?” a voice called from the door. “Oh! Hello, sourwolf. You ok?”

“Hey, Stiles,” Isaac replied, spinning the swing to face him. “Ah, well. I’m a man of many hidden talents.”

“Yeah, I think Scott might have mentioned something I really did not need to know about your hidden talents.”

Stiles walked in and sat on the other swing, which had suddenly materialised in the living room. Peter and Derek appeared to be ignoring them, too focused on whatever was on the television.

“What’s that song?” Stiles asked as he rocked the swing.

“Oh, it’s from these old cartoons we used to watch. There’s a cowboy and he has a dog, and the bad guys are four brothers,” Isaac remembered with a smile, still playing that flipping keytar.

“Never heard of it,” Stiles deadpanned. Isaac rolled his eyes.

“So, what did you want?” Isaac left the keytar on the side.

“I missed you, buddy!”

“And whose fault is that?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles stopped his swinging.

“You aren’t back yet,” Isaac explained. “When are you coming home?”

“Whoa, there was me trying to be nice!” Stiles snapped

“Sorry,” Isaac apologised sheepishly.

“Just because you’ve finished your exams doesn’t mean that the rest of us have!” Stiles replied with indignation. “And anyways, there’s something else I wanted to show you.”

“Oh, I have something to show you too!” Isaac said suddenly. He stood up and dragged a protesting Stiles by the sleeve until they walked into a bedroom. “Look!”

“I’m flattered, Isaac…” Stiles huffed as he looked around the room with his hands on his hips. “I mean you’re tall and blond, and have that well-defined and toned chest plus big bicep combo all you werewolves seem to have, but you’re not my type, alas. _And_ Scott would kill me – quite literally.”

“Shut up and look,” Isaac shoved Stiles on the bed as he leanet against the closed door and turned the lights off.

As he did so, the room around them disappeared and they were floating in a vast, never-ending darkness. Stars and nebulae of a myriad colours surrounded them in all directions.

“You mean you created the universe?” was Stiles’ only snarky comment. He was too busy staring at the stellar clouds and constellations in front of him

“No? These are just glow-in-the-dark stars. I bought them from the planetarium,” Isaac replied, ignoring the fact that they were floating in space and not in a bedroom anymore. “But I sort of put them together… What was it that you wanted me for, anyways?”

“Ah, well. Same thing. Come here.”

Stiles floated towards Isaac and grabbed his shirt. Then Isaac flicked the lights on and they found themselves in the locker rooms of Beacon Hills High.

“How did we get here?” Isaac asked, looking around and waiting for something to jump on them.

“That’s precisely my point,” Stiles insisted. “You created a universe in your dream, and then I told you to come to mine, and because we have too many shared memories in this stinking room, we appear here, but now it’s my dream, not yours. So—“

“I’m going to stop you there,” Isaac interrupted, placing his hand firmly on Stiles’ chest, stopping him from walking any further. “This is your dream?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded as he looked around.

“And you brought us to the locker room?”

“I did…”

“And why is it not my dream?”

“Because I’m the one dreaming!” Stiles exclaimed, as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world.

“But then why do I have my French bakery t-shirt on?” Isaac pointed at his chest and showed that he was, indeed, wearing his old t-shirt from when he worked in the bakery in Bégnan. “You’ve never seen my t-shirt _or_ my bakery. Why am I wearing this particular shirt?”

“Because you dreamt about it?”

“In _your_ dream?” Isaac insisted, finding it very difficult to follow Stiles’ logic, even if it was the logic of a dream.

“Yeah?”

“So you came into my dream, looking for me, and you dragged me to yours?” Isaac looked down at Stiles, who was looking now very confused, and not sure of what was going on. “How does that work?”

Stiles fell silent. The air around him changed in iridescent colours for a fraction of a second, before the light returned to normal. Stiles stared into the distance and bit his thumb as he thought carefully, while Isaac sat down on one of the benches and pulled his crosse from his locker, waiting for a satisfactory explanation.

“Well?” Isaac insisted with a smile.

“I…”

“You two!” Liam stormed into the locker room, looking angry. “What are you doing here?”

“This is a grown-up conversation, Liam,” Stiles quickly dismissed him.

Isaac saw Liam getting angrier and huffing while Stiles kept pacing across the locker room, deep in thought. Isaac stood up and put a soothing hand on Liam’s shoulder before he had a chance to jump on Stiles and tear his throat out.

“Give me a break!” Liam, now calmer, looked up pleadingly at Isaac. “Why are you here? I was about to—“

“What do you mean _here_?” Stiles turned around, now looking very curiously at Liam.

“Here! In my dream! Jesus, I can’t get rid of you two! You’re always interrupting something.”

“Hey—I thought we were friends?” Isaac said with a mock hurt voice.

“Oh, shut up, you know that’s not what I meant,” Liam huffed as he collapsed on the bench. “It’s just that you keep appearing in my dreams, and I love you to bits, but this is way too intense!”

Isaac looked at Stiles, who looked back at him with the same incredulous expression. Stiles then quickly walked towards Liam, kneeling by his side, and calling Isaac closer to him with a hand gesture.

“ _Your_ dream?” Stiles asked. The way Liam looked at him clearly indicated that it was the dumbest question ever. Isaac just rolled his eyes.

“You two are giving me a headache,” the taller beta said as he opened his locker and stepped inside. “I think I need to wake up—”

_I need to wake up. I need to wake up. I need to wake up. I NEED TO WAKE UP._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know poor Isaac does not deserve troubled dreams (and they are going to get worse -- spoiler alert), but it will all make sense in the end! Any comments so far?


	4. Skies under a younger sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t you understand?” Aurelius insisted, looking around in a circle into the eyes of his companions. “If we learn how to see beyond the imperfect geometry imposed on us by our human senses we will see through curves and angles. We will see time itself. We will see the cosmos flowing!”
> 
> OR: Almost two thousand years ago, a group of seven people found a way to travel through time. Little did they know what the consequences of their travelling would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter takes us to the second of the main storylines, that of the Seven Sleepers whom we encountered in ch. 1. Slowly but steadily the proverbial is going to get real from now on...
> 
> And extra kudos and thanks to i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name for being an amazing beta-reader!

**_Ephesos, Roman Empire, 1800 years ago_ **

Demetria walked from her parents’ home on the hills of Ephesos down towards the theatre. There was going to be a festival that day, which made it the perfect moment for their meeting. It was not as if they were doing anything _illegal_ ; far from it. In fact, she would be surprised if there were any laws regulating gatherings of philosophers. The problem is that what they were thinking and actively discussing was, for most people, more than unsettling. Simpler folk would get nervous about their investigations, and they did not want to be stoned away from their home town.

As she walked down the colonnaded street, she passed by the large library of Celsus on her way to the theatre, and she sat on the steps as she waited for one of her companions. There were seven of them (including herself): Aurelius, Heraklios, Hypathia, young Anthemios, Themistios, and Cleomena. They were all philosophers, some stronger in mathematics, some others better versed in the natural world, or else focused on the platonic reality of things. And while Demetria could not claim to be a specialist in any of those fields, she was interested in all aspects of the natural, and was extremely keen.

She was thinking about their upcoming meeting, too distracted by the pleasant gurgling of the fountain, when a hand on her shoulder startled her.

“Demetria?”

“By Zeus, Aurelius!” she exclaimed clutching her chest. “You nearly killed me there. You frightened me.”

“I’m sorry,” the older man apologised.

“Oh, don’t worry. Have you…” she looked cautiously around, and then asked in a low voice. “Have you got the book?”

Aurelius gave her a smile and a nod, and patted his leather bag where a weathered scroll could be seen.

“It was delivered this very morning.”

“How—“

“That I shall explain later,” he interrupted, shushing her gently. “Let’s get to the theatre first and find the others.”

Aurelius led her down the crowded street, avoiding merchants selling their wares, kids playing on the road, gamblers tossing dice on the steps of the porticoes, and prostitutes in bright-orange togas calling out for clients. Temporary food stalls had been set up in the middle of the road, in such a way that even if the street was many paces wide, it had been turned into three narrow lanes.

By the time they reached the gates to the theatre, the crowd had turned into a compacted mass of people, all trying to get into the building while town officials made sure that nobody entered through the wrong gate or sat on a row above their station. Demetria walked towards one of the statues where the river of people had to split, and there they found two of their companions already waiting for them.

“Heraklios, Hypathia,” They greeted each other.

“Any news about the others?” Demetria asked, trying to look for any face she could recognise amongst the throngs of people.

“Nothing yet,” Hypathia said, covering her head with her green and golden veil, so thin it was almost see-through. “It’s still early, though.”

They had agreed to meet just after they closed the gates to the theatre, when the people who were too late to enter the building would be driven away, and it would look less suspicious for them to walk together as a group.

One by one, the three other members of their society arrived. They waited under one of the theatre statues for a few minutes, pretending to be waiting for someone else, until the public slaves shut the bronze grates and the local guards scattered the rest of the people away. Taking that as their cue, the seven philosophers walked away from the theatre, heading towards the harbour gate, and then into the suburb.

After a few hundred yards, the group entered into Aurelius’ house. Demetria took a last look outside before walking in and shutting the door securely behind her. Their host led them into the main room, and from there into the library.

“Well, as you all know,” Aurelius began, “we have been discussing the possibilities of traversing the rift of time so we may travel to understand the origins of the Cosmos.”

For several months, the seven philosophers had been gathering in order to discuss what the origins of the cosmos were, beyond the myths of Erebos and Nyx emerging from the primordial Chaos. Thinkers of previous centuries had discussed the reality behind the myth for generations, but Demetria and her companions had eventually decided that the only way of making sense of it was to find out the truth themselves.

“I know we have all been thinking about the mysteries of time, and how it must be possible to revert its flow.”

“I still tell you,” Heraklios casted his doubt, “that rivers cannot flow backwards, so it follows that time cannot do the same either.”

“But you can swim against the current,” Demetria added, helpfully.

“And we are not fish!” Heraklios snapped.

“Nor is time a river,” Aurelius interrupted, dropping his bag on the table. “And now that we have agreed on that, I may show you this.”

With a theatrical movement, Aurelius pulled out the scroll. Everyone in the room gasped in anticipation.

“Is that… the _book_?” Cleomena asked, not daring to say the name aloud.

“This is, indeed, the _Book of Eibon_. The _Liber Ivonis_. Or at least a Latin copy,” Aurelius said with a grin. “Nobody has seen the original text since the times of Alexander, five hundred years ago.”

All that Demetria knew was that Eibon had been a philosopher, alchemist and wizard of the land of Hyperborea, far to the north, some twenty-thousand years before their time. The tome contained the arcane knowledge of the lost Hyperborean civilisation, and included many magical formulae to travel through space, through time, and to the realm beyond consciousness – amongst other unspeakable things.

“How do we even know this is a real translation and not a book of Egyptian mumbo-jumbo?” Heraklios asked, always the sceptic. The fact that someone else was worried about the origins of the book put Demetria slightly at ease.

“I trust my contact, and that should be enough guarantee,” Aurelius said through gritted teeth. It was clear that there was something about _how_ the book was obtained that he was not telling, but nobody dared ask. “We have no way of telling, of course, but it has been nearly impossible to secure it,” he added in a tone that admitted no reproach.

“How is this book going to help us?” Anthemios voiced everyone’s silent question.

“My dear boy,” Aurelius chuckled as he rested his hands on the table and dropped his head, so that the oil lamp on the table illuminated only one side of his face. “We are going to read the chapters and study them. The book has the _key_! It has the computation of the sleeping cycles and it explains the nature of the angles and the curves. Once we understand the _true_ nature of time and the _true_ nature of space, we will be able to see through space. No more angles. No more curves!”

Demetria and the other five looked at each other, not really understanding what their colleague was saying. It was clear that Aurelius knew and understood the theory, but his enthusiasm was borderline delusional devotion towards that text and that quest. Deep inside, Demetria knew that their research could only go either very well or extremely badly.

“Don’t you understand?” Aurelius insisted, looking around in a circle into the eyes of his companions. “If we learn how to see beyond the imperfect geometry imposed on us by our human senses we will see _through_ curves and angles. We will see time itself. We will see the cosmos _flowing_!” Aurelius paused. His smile had turned into a manic grin, but his tone and the way he moved his hands was hypnotic. He really managed to transmit his enthusiasm convincingly. “And once we see it in that way, we will be able to move in it – and across it.”

Demetria looked at the table, where Aurelius was unrolling the scroll. Her friends around her stepped closer, trying to get a glimpse of the Latin text that contained the secrets they had been waiting for. Two conflicting feelings collided in her chest. On the one hand, she knew that this was the key text that would allow them to find the answers to all the questions they had been discussing for months. On the other, Demetria feared that this gate into the unknown would give them answers and truths that none of them ever wanted to know.

***

Demetria spent almost four months studying the text. All of them read the book at least twice (or, at least, the relevant sections – there were too many disturbing and unnecessary chapters which were off topic), and they had secret meetings in which they discussed their interpretations of certain passages. The seven kept their meetings secret, locked in Aurelius’ library (he would always keep the book under lock and key there) and, when his slaves got too nosy, they retreated to the cellar.

Eventually, they thought they understood the way in which they could see beyond our faulty three-dimensional universe, but they could not do it through their physical eyes. The only way to see into the beyond was in their sleep. In order to remain asleep for long enough and in order to avoid distracting dreams, they had to focus their sleep with silphium, opium, and other strong plants. One by one, the seven philosophers learnt the way in which each of them could individually sleep through their limited and constrained perception of the world, and opened a first gate to a beyond.

When the seven were confident in their abilities, they arranged for their first experimental jump through time.

Demetria and the rest gathered in Aurelius’ cellar on a cold December evening. The sun was low, and the sky was clear, all the clouds carried away by the chilly wind. They barred the door and shut the window. A small fire grate was placed in the centre of the cellar to keep them warm and add light to the various oil lamps that had been lit. There were seven cots laid radially from the fire on the floor and, for extra protection, they drew a circle of mountain ash and salt around them.

“Are we all ready?” Aurelius asked. “I know that I have been very intense about the study of the book, but I also know that all of us are excited about tonight. And if anyone wants to walk away, now is the last chance.”

Everyone nodded nervously. Demetria bit her bottom lip and scrunched her cloak with her hands anxiously. They did not know of anyone alive or in living memory that had successfully done the ritual. To make things worse, all they knew about the _Book of Eibon_ was that it was zealously guarded by a group that called themselves the Pnakotic Brotherhood: a group who had sworn to keep the book and its content secret, and had done it for at least a thousand years. How Aurelius had obtained the translation he never actually told, and avoided the topic whenever he was asked. Demetria and Heraklios had voiced their concern about it, fearing that the Brotherhood might come after them, but Aurelius insisted that it had all been ‘taken care of’.

“If we all agree, then let us start.”

Anthemios, their youngest member, passed around cups full of silphium-infused wine. When the seven were finally sat on their cots, they raised their cups, they looked silently into each other’s eyes, drank the wine, and reclined back. In a matter of minutes, they were all soundly unconscious in a restless and dreamless sleep.

When Demetria woke up, she realised that they were not, in fact, awake. They were in a blurry grey void surrounded by the shadows of the cellar in which they had locked themselves. Aurelius was already standing, anxious to lead them to the aethereal cellar gate. Demetria followed her companions, took a deep breath and crossed the gate. On the other side there was an olive grove. It was hot and dry, but the horizon was still hazy.

The group looked back at Cleomena, who had been the one doing the calculations for their first trial. She had found that each particular angle gave a different overture to an alternative point in time or space, based on their starting position. Cleomena then assented and pulled from her side an instrument that her sleeping self had fabricated. It consisted of two, thin, ruled rods of copper linked together by a pivot which, like a drawing compass, she could open to any degree she wanted. After fiddling with it for a few seconds, she positioned the rods in a precise angle. She looked up at Aurelius with a smile and they were off.

They walked along the grove until they reached an open field. On the far side Demetria and the rest could see a small village with a large temple surrounded by orchards. There were odd ruins and boundary stones littered across the field, but the closer they got to the village, the clearer the horizon became, until they left the hazy and blurry olive grove behind.

As they walked towards the village through that strange land, Demetria tried to stay close to Hypathia, holding hands for comfort while looking around them with suspicion. That is, until Cleomena found a particular rock. She stopped abruptly and inspected it carefully while her six companions waited.

“This one will work,” Cleomena declared after confirming that one of the carved corners of the rock had precisely the same angle she had calculated with her tool. “This is the corner we have to go through.”

“Are you sure?” Heraklios asked.

“As sure as I can be,” she said with a smile. “We could wander further into this country, go to that village and look for another corner with this same angle, but I’d rather not risk it.”

“I agree,” Demetria sided with her friend. “This is our first attempt, we should stay close to our cellar. Just in case.”

“You know that if it goes wrong there will be no ‘just in case’ option,” Heraklios insisted.

“What’s wrong with you?” Demetria snapped.

“Enough!” Aurelius rose his hands, asking for silence. “Heraklios is right to be cautious. He is the one who has taught us about the different natures of reality, after all. But we should trust Cleomena and her calculations. We have all agreed on the method. Questioning it now will do nothing good.”

Heraklios mumbled an apology, but Cleomena double-checked the angle of the rock with her tool, just in case. She nodded emphatically, satisfied with her original decision and then looked at Aurelius.

“This is _it_.”

“Then let’s not delay it any further,” Hypathia said with anticipation.

The seven held their hands in a circle, two of them resting their hands on the corner of the rock. They closed their eyes. They took deep breaths until their breathing and heartbeats were synchronised. And then, they opened their eyes.

A bright light emerged from the rock’s corner, creating a solid plane roughly a pace in diameter. The seven philosophers looked at each other and smiled while they still held their hands tightly together. Then Cleomena reached with her hand towards the gleaming surface and touched it.

Everything went bright – before going black.

***

For the briefest instant, Demetria felt a shock wave running through them in the darkness. Then she opened her eyes. As far as she could tell, the seven of them were lying on the floor in the same radial disposition they had gone to sleep in the first place, but they were not in Aurelius’ cellar. They had a clear sky above, and they were not lying on their cots but rather on a cool and humid loam. Demetria cursed immediately, because she knew her dress would be ruined. But this feeling was soon substituted by elation. They were _not_ in the cellar!

“Wake up!” she called as she sat up. “Come on. We did it. We travelled through time!”

“We’ve certainly travelled _somewhere_ ,” Hypathia said from her side, trying to stand up. “Where are we meant to be?”

“Alexandria in Egypt,” Aurelius replied. “And we should have gone back three hundred years.”

“How do we know we are there?” Anthemios asked, dusting the mud from his tunic. “All we can see is that we are in a field.”

“A _muddy_ field,” Cleomena clarified. “But we found the necessary angle to open the rift. The time _must_ be correct.”

“There is only one way of finding out,” Demetria said as she walked towards the only visible path around them. “We go to that path, we find a local, and we ask. Simple.”

As she marched ahead, the rest of her companions looked at each other, eventually all looking at Aurelius for guidance. He simply shrugged his shoulders and waved them in Demetria’s direction.

After a long walk, the sun began to rise higher in the sky. They encountered various peasants walking towards the fields with their tools. They wore nothing but a piece of cloth wrapped around their waists that reached down to their knees, and had their heads shaved. The peasants avoided eye contact with them as they walked past, although they understood Greek when Aurelius asked for directions. The farmer they asked seemed a bit confused at the question, but he did point them in the direction of the nearest city.

By noon they reached a broader road, flanked by various villages and isolated farms, which eventually led to a densely packed suburb built against a high set of white walls. Once they reached the suburb, Demetria saw more people dressed in sandals and tunics like theirs, although they certainly seemed old-fashioned, and Heraklios quietly pointed out to her that not even his grandfather had dressed like that.

When they approached the city gate it was clear that they were, in fact, in Alexandria. The large Greek inscription above the gate commemorated the city’s founder, Alexander the Great, and the two large Egyptian-looking statues further confirmed their suspicions

“We really are in Alexandria then,” Anthemios said in a low voice, still not sure whether to believe his eyes or not.

“We are indeed, lad,” Aurelius, on the other hand, could not contain his joy. They had done it! “And we just need to find out if we have arrived when we planned… Excuse me,” he asked the closest Greek-looking person. “We just arrived from Ephesos. Could you tell us who is the current king?”

The passer-by looked at Aurelius in disbelief. “King Ptolemy and Queen Cleopatra.”

“Yes, yes… but which one?” Aurelius insisted, grabbing the man’s wrist. It did not help that the Greek kings of Egypt were _all_ called Ptolemy.

“Ptolemy VIII,” the man said and shrugging Aurelius off, walked away briskly.

“We did it?” Demetria said with a wide grin. If they had travelled three hundred years back then the king had to be Ptolemy VIII. “We actually did it!”

Demetria and her six companions cheered in the middle of the avenue, patting each other’s shoulders and congratulating their companions for their success.

“So we came to Alexandria,” Heraklios said, this time clearly proud of their achievement and no scepticism in his tone. “What next?”

“There are two reasons why we came here and now,” Aurelius said in a hushed tone. “We need to enter the library and find a book, and we need to buy a _mechanikon_.”

They all new about their mission so, without any further words, they split into two groups.

Demetria was part of the first one, and they went straight to the Great Library and the Museion, the building dedicated to the muses and the arts. The second went straight to the market district, looking for someone who had built (and was willing to sell) a _mechanikon_. The library-museum complex was, however, easy to find and, to their pleasant surprise, they found no trouble in getting in. As Demetria had expected, however, it proved more difficult finding the book they needed.

The book they needed was the cursed scroll containing the texts of Hipparchos and Aristarkos, two mathematicians who had calculated that the stars did not have fixed positions in the sky and that through time they actually _moved_. This idea was soon deemed as nonsensical by some and dangerous by others, so their books were dismissed and forcefully forgotten. A few radical voices had called for the burning of the books, but the librarians, terrified of the idea, had opted simply to hide them in a restricted section. At first they were refused access to it, but they had brought enough silver denarii to buy their way in. The librarians had never seen Roman coins, but they were good silver coins (and there were many of them) and the librarians eventually accepted the bribe.

Once in the restricted section, they found the lost books that the Romans had purged (or rather, that they would purge in a hundred years’ time). Hypathia and Demetria smiled while Aurelius avidly read the text. They acted quickly, taking notes and copying word by word the most relevant paragraphs in their own papyrus sheets. Demetria suggested that they should have simply stolen the book, but a stern-looking librarian with a truncheon kept a dissuading eye on them.

By the end of the day they were ready to go. With a friendly nod, Aurelius returned the book to the librarian, who visibly sighed in relief before ushering them to the gates. Outside Demetria found their companions, who were carrying a box-shaped item under a piece of cloth.

“You found one?” she asked, clearly impressed as she pointed at the covered object.

“It was not easy, and it was not cheap,” Heraklios explained. “But we got ourselves a _mechanikon_.”

“Did you find the books?” Themistios asked with anticipation.

“Yes, we did,” Aurelius assented. “But perhaps it would be better if we found somewhere more secluded to discuss what we have found.”

They headed away from the Museion and towards the Greek quarter, where they quickly rented a room. The landlord of the tavern looked at them with suspicion, but he handed them the key.

“Can we see the machine now?” Anthemios asked, incapable of hiding his curiosity.

“Here it is!” Heraklios pulled the cloth to reveal a small wooden box with shiny bonze discs and cogs, and inscriptions with the names of planets and stars. The inside was full of interconnected wheels and pegs.

“So how does it work?” Demetria wanted to know.

“The way it works is less important than the reason why we have it,” Aurelius announced. “We have read in the lost books what we suspected already: that the stars are not fixed in the sky and that the cosmos _moves_ in time. This mechanism,” he added with a gentle tap on the _mechanikon_ , “after a few modifications, can tell us how far a star has moved. If we know the position of a star in our own time and _then_ measure how far it is from its position at whichever point in time we find ourselves, we will be able to know how far in time _we_ have travelled!”

“Which means…?” Demetria left the question unfinished, not really following.

“It means that we can jump into the rift as far back as we want,” Heraklios chipped in. “Now we will be able to know when we are…”

“So we know precisely how much we have to jump to go back home,” Aurelius concluded.

“So we can go back to the origins of Earth,” Cleomena added with a grin, “and calculate how old the Cosmos is!”

***

They fell asleep with the aid of their usual potion and, when they opened their eyes, their dream-time selves were around the same rock that they had used first to open the rift. Finding themselves in a familiar environment would have been reassuring, if only it had not been for the old man sitting on the rock, evidently waiting for them.

The man was wearing a red silk tunic with embroidered motifs of gold and silver. He covered his head with a soft velvet cap, and in his hands he held a staff of black, polished hardwood.

“Greetings, travellers of the rift,” the man said through his bushy white beard.

“Hello,” Aurelius said as he stood up. The rest of his companions were happy for him to take the lead. “Who are you? How- I mean… Were you waiting for us?”

Without a word, the man slid down from the rock and, with a swift hand movement, he indicated that they should follow him. Demetria was not sure if that was a good idea, but something inside compelled her to follow the man into the village.

The party walked through the orchards and the quiet cobbled streets, where all sorts of cats basked and lazed around. The old man brought them to a colonnaded temple with an onion dome covered in emerald tiles. In the cool marble interior, their guide led them to a corner where lush velvet pillows were spread around a low table that, when Demetria looked more closely, had complex patterns of ivory and mother of pearl. As soon as they sat down, three servants brought in perfumed tea and quickly retired.

“You haven’t told us who you are yet,” Heraklios said, leaving the tea untouched on the table.

“I am Menes, priest of Hypnos here in Ulthar,” the man finally introduced himself with solemnity and a slight bow.

“And what do you want of us, priest?” Heraklios spat.

“I apologise for our companion,” Aurelius jumped in, before the situation escalated beyond their control. Thankfully, the priest did not seem to take offence.

“No need, no need,” Menes calmed Aurelius down. “And, to answer your question, I just felt that it was necessary to give you this warning.”

“A warning?” Demetria asked in alarm.

“I know that you come from the beyond, and that you open the rift for your own world’s purposes,” the priest stated, not explaining how he knew. The seven philosophers looked at each other nervously, but said nothing. “I felt the need to let you know that you are not the first ones to come to our realm.”

“Whose realm is this?” Hypathia blurted, her curiosity stronger than her restraint.

“This is the oneiric realm of Hypnos,” Menes answered solemnly. “But that is beside the point. The Lord of Sleep has no problem with _intruders_ like you, for all are welcome into the Dreamlands. But going through the rift draws attention from forces beyond your understanding.”

“Is this a warning or a threat?” Heraklios leant forward, and Aurelius had to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing up.

“As I said,” the priest said as he sipped his tea, “you have nothing to fear in the Dreamlands. But when you open a rift you are only drawing attention to yourselves. And that is my warning: _that_ is the kind of attention that you don’t want upon yourselves.”

“Attention? Attention from whom?”

Menes finished his tea and carefully left the fine porcelain cup on the table. “Attention from the _hunter_.”

***

“I think it’s time we try going forward,” Aurelius decided when they held their next meeting.

“By Zeus, Aurelius!” Demetria said in shock, and Hypathia and Anthemios physically moved to side with her. “We have been warned by the priest about this _hunter_ creature. And now you want to travel into the future?”

“The future does not exist,” Heraklios said, shaking his head. “It has not happened yet. If we try to travel forward we will cease to exist. Not that we will die, we will enter non-existence and we will not be!”

“Don’t be absurd,” Aurelius dismissed him quickly.

“And what about the hunter?” Demetria insisted.

“We have only got that priest’s word about the existence of the hunter.”

“And that is not enough warning?” Demetria asked, crossing her arms.

“The priest told us about a hunter creature he had never seen,” Aurelius continued. Menes had not been able to tell them much about the hunter, beyond the cryptic warning that it lurked in the furthest corners of time. “And since when have we been likely to listen to the warnings of priests?”

That got him a couple of muted chuckles.

“I think the circumstances are different this time,” Hypathia contested.

“And the future does not exist regardless,” Heraklios mentioned his main concern again.

A big argument followed. They discussed long and loud about the hunter and the future until they reached two clear conclusions. First, that if the future did not exist then it followed that they would not be able to open a rift that would take them there. Without a rift to the future they could not disappear in the void. And second, that their distrust and disdain of priests (together with their curiosity about the origins of the world) outweighed whatever fears they might have of the hunter creature.

***

When Demetria woke up next, she was in a cave. It was dark and damp, but there was a small table full of lit candles and oil lamps.

“Why are these here?” Anthemios, who was already walking around the cave, asked aloud to no one in particular.

“Are we in the future then?” Demetria wanted to know, ignoring the first question.

“I think we should be only some hundred and fifty or two hundred years ahead,” Cleomena said as she rubbed her temples.

“I’ll go and have a look,” Heraklios volunteered.

“Wait!” Demetria shouted before he was gone. “I’ll come with.”

Heraklios gave her a welcoming smile and the two of them walked towards the entrance of the cave.

“What do you think we’ll see?” Demetria asked, illuminating the cave floor with one of the lamps that had been left on the table.

“Hopefully the owner of those lamps and candles,” Heraklios replied.

“Whoever left them there cannot be that far…”

When they reached the top of the cave they could see the outside world, which was surprisingly familiar. They could see the tilled fields and the marsh by the river. They could even see the ruined remains of the large temple of Artemis.

“Wait, we’re in Ephesos still?”

“That’s a relief at least—“

“Masters!” a voice called from the path below them. “Masters!” the voice called again.

“Is that us?” Demetria whispered.

“I don’t know,” Heraklios muttered through gritted teeth. “But just stay behind me just in case,” he added as he balled his fists and lowered his body position, expecting to be attacked at any moment.

A few seconds later a man in a dirty tunic walked to the mouth of the cave and kneeled down when he got close enough to Heraklios and Demetria.

“Masters! You finally woke up!” the man said, still bowing down.

“Are you talking to us?”

“Stand up, please,” Demetria said as she pulled him up. “We are not your masters.”

“But you are! You must be!” the man insisted. “Seven of you fell asleep, while hiding away from the city guards almost two hundred years ago—“

“What city guards?” Heraklios asked quickly.

“The guards! They were looking for you. They were going to arrest you! But you hid and fell asleep, only to wake up now safe from your pursuers. Just as it was foretold!” the man insisted with a grin.

“Right… and when exactly were the guards searching for us?”

***

Even if the news that the city guards would soon be looking for them for reasons unknown (although Demetria suspected that it had to do with the Brotherhood and the way Aurelius had obtained the _Book of Eibon_ ), they were somehow reassured by the fact that they would never be caught by them. There was also the fact that they could confirm that the future existed and that they could travel to it. So after a few days of rest they decided that their next jump would be their first long probing leap into the past – their first step towards the first day on earth.

Cleomena spent an entire week calculating the correct angle for the longest time jump they could conceive, which would hopefully take them to the origins of the world. When she eventually let everyone know that she had found _the_ angle, the seven gathered again at Aurelius’ cellar and prepared for the jump. They drank the poisoned wine, and they fell asleep.

They woke up in the land of dreams, where they spent a long time walking around their oneiric surroundings looking for the correct angle. Cleomena tried various rocks and odd branches around the fields, hoping that one of the natural corners would fit their needs but none of the ones they came across fitted _precisely_. They were forced to move on to human-made corners in the village, so they tried benches, roofs, gables, house corners, and temple columns, until eventually she found a water fountain that had a curiously shaped spout. The seven held their hands in a circle, focused internally, and opened the rift.

When Demetria opened her eyes in the awoken world, she noticed the cold. It was _very_ cold and very windy. The wind blew so hard that it made it difficult for her to walk straight.

“Are we all here?” she asked, looking around and wrapping her travelling cloak tightly around her body.

She looked around and all her companions nodded. Aurelius suggested they searched for cover, but there were hardly anything. There were no trees and no shrubs around, but there were some on the hill towards their left, so they headed there before they died of exposure. Thankfully it was still daytime and it was warm enough, but it meant that they could not tell _when_ they were through the stars.

As they walked towards the small forest at the top of the hill they were surprised by the barren landscape that surrounded them. It was like nothing they had seen before, with its patches of hardy grass and small flowers that grew close to the ground. More concerning was the distant roar of a feral beast, which reminded them of a lion, and they had to stop in their tracks to make sure that they had actually seen a large herd of hairy elephants crossing the plains in the distance. But nothing surprised them more than the large wall of ice that extended as far as the eye could see to the north.

“We can’t set camp here,” Anthemios commented when they reached the foot of the hill, fear lacing his voice and his lips already purple. “It’s too exposed, and we are sure to freeze in the night. No matter how big a fire we build.”

“I agree, but we haven’t seen anywhere else to take shelter,” Heraklios added while he carefully left the _mechanikon_ on the floor.

“Wait!” Demetria called. “What about that cave there?”

“That may be our only choice,” Aurelius assented, and the seven time explorers hurried towards the crevice in the rock.

Inside the cave they found an abandoned fire, and on the walls they saw primitive paintings and carvings of animals, including giant bulls, unicorns, hairy elephants and deer the size of a house – if the human figures around them were any indicator of their size. People had lived there, there was no doubt, but they did not know where they had gone.

Eventually the sun set, and the stars shone down on them, cold, distant, strange. The temperature dropped, but thankfully they managed to gather enough firewood to keep them alive for the night. Their only respite was that they just needed to stay long enough for them to have a close look at the stars. Once they measured their position to know how far they had travelled back, they could go back home. Then they would be able to try again, and to travel further.

“Come and have a look!” Aurelius called once the sky was dark enough. “The stars are out.”

The other six slowly made it to the entrance to the cave, and had a look at the night sky. The constellations they could see were definitely the ones they knew from their own time, but they were most _certainly_ in different positions. However, on top of that, it appeared that some stars moved faster than others, which was unsettling. Nobody knew how that would affect the functioning of the _mechanikon_.

Anthemios and Hypathia looked at the stars of the Little Bear and focused at the way they shifted through the night and how far they were from the celestial pole. When they were certain of their measurements, they told Heraklios. Everyone held their breath as the former wrestler clicked the wheels and moved them in the computation machine. He took a reading from the inscribed disc, conferred in hushed tones with Cleomena, and then looked at his colleagues.

“Well?” Anthemios begged.

“Twenty-two,” Heraklios answered with solemnity.

“Twenty-two centuries?” Demetria ventured.

“No. Twenty-two _thousand_ years.”

Nobody said a thing, their mouths gaping.

“Y- y- you mean—“ Aurelius stuttered.

“Yes.”

“And are you _sure_?”

“As far as we can tell,” Cleomena intervened. “Yes. _We_ are sure.”

“By Zeus,” Demetria exclaimed after a pause. “Just how old is Gaia?”

“There’s only one way of finding out,” Aurelius replied with determination.

The seven looked at each other nervously, shifting uneasily on their feet, before Aurelius told them to get ready to travel back home. If they could do twenty-two millennia with such ease, he reasoned that there must be a way in which they could do even _more_ with a little more effort.

***

The seven drank their potion, fell asleep, and found their way back to their present. As they always did, they focused their vision beyond mundane shapes and the imperfect three-dimensional universe their senses limited them to. But this time, as they broke through the rift, the ripples of the fracture travelled far through time and space. The waves that flowed from their slithering rupture through the angle of reality reached the furthest corners of the reality beyond.

In those distant corners, the ripple lapped at the snout of a sleeping creature. It caught the scent and, howling into the aethereal void, began the chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mechanikon was anything which worked with cogs and wheels. In this particular case, the mechanikon is something similar to the [Antikythera mechanism](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antikythera_mechanism).
> 
> Any comments or thoughts so far welcome!


	5. All I have to do is dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac woke up panting. It was already morning. Somehow he did not feel tired or sleepy, because it was not as if he had had a bad night’s sleep – and yet his anxiety was through the roof. Feeling Scott dying again in that dream had been the worst thing he had ever felt. 
> 
> OR: Isaac is thankful that the pack is finally back together, even if the weird dreams keep coming...

**_Beacon Hills, July_ **

During the following days, the rest of the pack slowly assembled back in Beacon Hills. Liam came from Denver, Mason from Santa Barbara, Lydia and Stiles from Boston. Corey apparently had returned too, but he had not bothered telling anyone else, and clearly wanted nothing from the pack. Derek and Malia were already there, of course. Peter, meanwhile, was touring New Zealand, of all places. Officially it had something to do with an old acquaintance of his who knew about remote pre-human cults and unspeakable giant Maori bird shape-shifters, but Derek had hinted that he really wanted to see some old film sets, including those from _The Lord of the Rings_ , _Hercules: The Legendary Journeys_ and _Xena, Warrior Princess_.

Malia was not happy about that trip. Or, rather, she was not happy with Peter going without her. _Any_ excuse to go to New Zealand was as good an excuse in her books as any, and she would have loved the chance to find out if New Zealanders were as mysterious as she imagined Frenchmen to be. But she had only started her job with the Sheriff a few months ago and could not leave on a long holiday just yet. She moaned endlessly to Isaac about it, complaining that this was ‘yet another exciting trip to meet exciting men that I don’t get to go on’. Isaac could only smile in support.

It was the summer holidays, so they all had a long break, and while they all had parents and family to return to, the pack bond that linked them was as strong a pull as any other. As soon as their instinctive urges to re-join the pack were satisfied after their exciting first reunions and the seemingly never-ending catch up gossip, the pack soon fell back to a relaxed summer routine. Jackson, for example, went some mornings to his father’s office for some sort of work experience placement. Scott went regularly to Deaton’s clinic. Isaac had Argent jobs to do, and Lydia had a research calendar to set up before planning her trips to Europe.

Isaac felt an unexpected and particular relief when the entire pack was finally together. After the stress and the tension of the final exam, he had been going through a series of weird dreams that he could not really explain. Every time he woke up he could remember them as lucid memories, no matter how bizarre the content had been. To make things worse, he was not completely sure that they were completely innocent dreams (which was giving him anxiety) but, for the time being, he was keeping his concerns to himself. In any case, once Jackson and Liam and Stiles were finally _there_ with him, his inner wolf seemed to relax, happy to be surrounded by his packmates again.

For a few days, Isaac tried his best to quench his need for pack by spending most of his waking hours with Jackson, Malia, Liam, or Stiles, or with whomever was free when Scott was with Deaton. During those days, he could not recall any weird dreams at all, which Isaac quickly took as a minor victory. Those mornings he woke up frisky and with a big grin, to Scott’s annoyance. (Not that Scott meant any of his complaints, but he had to keep up the appearances of not enjoying being woken up by a frolicsome Isaac, even if he really enjoyed it).

That changed the night of the third of July – the night before the anniversary of the Beacon Hills’ great cultic awakening.

***

The next thing Isaac remembered was him staring out of a bus window. Outside it was grey and rainy, and the fields were flooded with murky brown water, although the road at least seemed dry. A loud whistling startled him before he could think more about the grim surroundings.

“I said go back to your seat, Bilinski!”

He was in the school bus. They were going to a cross-country competition ( _again?_ ), but they were not getting there anytime soon.

Stiles walked down the aisle and asked Boyd to seat elsewhere, so he could have a chat with Isaac.

“How annoying is this?” he asked as he sat down.

“I didn’t know you were so keen to go running.”

“It’s not that, sassywolf,” Stiles said, pulling an irritated face. “It’s the everyone being trapped on the bus.”

“Who do you mean by everyone?”

“Isaac!” Stiles said in disbelief. “Haven’t you looked around?”

Isaac did, and he could see that the rest of the pack was in the bus with them. Scott sat at the back, looking ill, which made Isaac’s heart sink. Boyd was there, and so was Ethan. But he was sitting with Jackson, not with Danny. Somehow he knew that this memory was not right. Liam, Corey, Mason and a girl Stiles said was called Hayden were also there with them. Sat at the very back were Lydia and Allison.

“I thought that Lydia and Allison were in a car behind us?”

“Yeah, well… They _were_. Originally. In the same way that Liam, Mason and the rest of the younglings were not even with the pack yet!”

“Is that why Peter and Derek are sat over there with Scott’s mum, your dad, and Chris?”

“Yes,” Stiles added curtly. Isaac was beginning to realise that maybe it was not only him who behaved weirdly in dreams. “And Deaton and Lydia’s mum are here too!”

Coach blew his whistle again, five or six times in quick succession, cutting Stiles from saying anything else.

“What did I say, Bilinski? I told you to be quiet!”

“No you did _not_ ,” Stiles argued. “You told me to go back to my seat!”

“Are you trying to be clever, Stiles?” Coach advanced with a threatening finger.

Stiles looked at Isaac, who just shrugged his shoulders. He looked back at Coach before replying.

“No, Sir. I wasn’t _trying_.”

He clearly left something on the lines of ‘I don’t need to try because I am’ unsaid, but Coach seemed placated with that and went back to sit at the front of the bus.

“Wait, Erica and Aiden are here too?” Isaac suddenly noticed them seating behind Peter.

“Yes. _And_ Cora. _And_ Kira,” Stiles listed. “And even Theo.”

Isaac’s eyes flared yellow and his claws extended as he heard the name. _Theo_. He had never met him, or seen him, and did not care about him at all. He just knew what he had done to Scott and to the rest of the pack – the painful memory of what he felt through his pack bond when Scott nearly died suddenly very fresh. Isaac stood up.

“Whoa, Isaac, easy there, pup!” Stiles tried to calm him down and hold him to his seat, but Isaac pushed him to the side and walked to the aisle, heading to the one boy in the bus he did not recognise. “Isaac? Isaac, buddy, what are you doing?” Stiles said, his voice betraying his fear, still hoping Isaac would not do something stupid.

Isaac did not stop to answer. He went straight to the seat where Theo was and grabbed him by the collar. “So you’re Theo then?” he growled as he lifted him up, looking down at the chimaera.

“Isaac, wait—“ Stiles insisted as he stood up, but before anyone could say anything else, Isaac had already punched him square in the nose.

“Isaac!”

That was Liam, who had been deep in conversation with Mason until he heard the characteristic noise of broken bones and splattering of blood. The younger beta stood up and tried to pull Theo from his friend’s grip, but Isaac was having none of it.

Behind them Coach blew his whistle, trying to stop the fight. Surprisingly, he was the only one trying to do anything, as everyone else in the bus seemed oblivious to the punch up. But the whistle did not stop Isaac, who punched him again and again while Theo smirked with venomous smugness.

Stiles tried to jump on Isaac’s back, but the werewolf was too strong for him. Liam slid past Theo and tackled Isaac, pushing him back. The taller werewolf, however, did not let go of Theo.

“Isaac, stop!” Liam begged. He had never seen Isaac like this, and it was _scary_.

“No! Let go of me! I’m going to beat him to next Thursday!” Isaac groaned as he tried to punch again, which was increasingly difficult with Liam and Stiles trying to stop him

Coach kept blowing the whistle to no avail.

“McCall!” Coach Finstock yelled, his voice resounding with a ring that should not have echoed like that in a bus. But it somehow worked, suddenly snapping Scott from whatever state he had been in. “Tell him to stop!”

Scott slowly stood up, still holding a hand to his wounded abdomen, and staring into space. Blood seeped through the dressing and stained his t-shirt. He blinked twice before he managed to focus his sight and glow his eyes red. He then added in a low voice, “Isaac, don’t.”

The beta gulped and halted his punch two inches from Theo’s bloodied face. He was still breathing heavily, and his fist was shaking. Theo spat some blood to the side and then turned his face again to look at Isaac with the same defying smirk through his swollen eyes. Summoning all his willpower, Isaac let go of Theo’s collar, dropping him heavily on the floor of the bus. Theo pushed himself back, stood up, and quietly went back to his seat as if nothing had happened.

Isaac was sat on the floor, with Stiles behind him, still hanging from his shoulders, and Liam in front of him, wrapping his arms around his waist. His two friends noticed that Isaac had stopped (even if he had not calmed down yet), and slowly let go of him.

“Hey- hey… are you ok, buddy?” Stiles said from behind, placing a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, whose breathing was still heavy.

“Lahey, what the hell was that for?” Coach shouted, his whistle still in his mouth.

“He killed Scott!” Isaac’s voice trembled as tears ran down his cheeks.

“He obviously got better!” Coach yelled back, as he pointed at his boyfriend.

With glassy eyes, Isaac looked at Scott, who looked back at him sheepishly. The beta stood up as he sniffled and rubbed his eyes, quickly followed by Stiles and Liam.

“Why is everyone so happy that _he_ is in this bus with us?” Isaac said, gritting his teeth, his eyes still red.

“I don’t think anyone is happy about him,” Stiles replied, his hand still on Isaac’s chest, trying to keep him calm. Despite his calming advice, Isaac could feel the vitriolic distrust in Stiles’ voice.

“I- I- I need to get out,” Isaac blurted and walked to the front of the bus, pushing Finstock to the side, and kicking the bus door open.

“What is he doing?” he heard Stiles asking Liam.

“I don’t know, but I’m not letting him go on his own.”

“Lahey! Stop!” Coach yelled. “You cannot leave this bus!”

Isaac jumped out of the bus and landed in a puddle on the road, and then he kept on walking away from the vehicle. Before he got too far he heard his friends calling out to him.

“Isaac! Wait!”

“Wait for us!”

Both ran after Isaac, and all three stopped in their tracks when they heard Coach blowing his whistle at them.

“You three! Back in the bus now!”

They ignored him and paced up until they got to Isaac.

“Are you okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, Isaac, why did you storm out like that?”

“Also, you know you can’t walk any further, right?” Stiles asked as he extended his arms, wishing Isaac looked at their surroundings.

Isaac stopped. He sighed and turned around. They had left the school bus far behind on the road, but they were not surrounded by flooded fields anymore: they were at the far end of a concrete pier surrounded by a stormy sea.

“What the fuck happened there, Isaac?” Liam asked as he wrapped himself up in his coat to get some protection from the blasting gale.

Isaac pulled the fur-lined hood of his parka over his head. The sea storm around them was turning for the worse.

“I just couldn’t help it,” Isaac said, putting his hands in his pockets, and looking down at his boots. “Stiles mentioned Theo and I… I… I _felt_ it again.”

“Felt what?”

“I felt Scott dying again,” Isaac tried to bury himself deeper in his coat, so his friends would not see him getting upset. The moment he heard Stiles mention Theo’s name, Isaac suddenly saw himself back in his apartment in Bégnan, feeling Scott dying. He remembered the impotence and, above all, the _pain_ in his chest and the sobs in his throat that left him a teary wreck during those minutes when Scott’s constant presence was simply not there anymore.

“Hey, Isaac, you big softie,” Stiles placed a mitten-covered hand on his shoulder. “It’s because of _you_ that Scott is still with us, remember? There was nothing Theo could have done.”

“To be fair, I also wished I had roughed him up,” Liam added cheerfully.

“I think we all agree there,” Stiles concluded, making Isaac chuckle.

The wind began to blow even harder, carrying frozen spray from the waves that crashed against the concrete boulders of the pier. Isaac managed to let go of his anger and pushed away the painful memories. He had his friends there, after all. He could do anything with them around.

“Why don’t we go back inside?” Liam eventually suggested, rubbing his hands to fight off the cold.

“Have we got the keys?” Stiles asked. At that moment the wind picked up again, even more violently than before.

“What keys?”

“We need keys to get inside,” Stiles deadpanned, although he had to shout to make himself heard over the howling wind.

“That’s ok,” Isaac shouted as a large wave showered them in cold surf. “I found these in my pocket!” he added as he pulled two large, shiny bronze keys looped in a heavy iron ring.

“What are those keys for?” Liam shouted. The wind was so strong that it threatened to throw them into the water now, but they would not move.

“They’re for… You know… to get _inside_?” Isaac examined the keys carefully. They were in his pocket, he just fished them out of his parka—

_Hang on. I don’t have a parka. Whose parka is this? And what are these keys for?_

He was brought back to reality by Coach’s loud whistle. He had creeped (or maybe he had simply materialised) behind them and was blasting his whistle loudly. It was so loud that Stiles and Liam had to bring their fingers to their ears to block it off.

“ _You_ are not supposed to be here!” Finstock yelled angrily. But Isaac was not sure if there was an edge of surprise lacing his words. Surprise or, perhaps, _fear_. “Go back to the bus, now! You’re not supposed to be _here_ and you’re not supposed to have _those_!”

***

Isaac woke up panting. It was already morning. Somehow he did not feel tired or sleepy, because it was not as if he had had a bad night’s sleep – and yet his anxiety was through the roof. Feeling Scott dying again in that dream had been the worst thing he had ever felt. He turned around to see his boyfriend calmly asleep, gently snoring, almost curled into a ball with both of his hands under his pillow and his knees up against his chest. Isaac placed his hands around Scott’s waist and pulled him tight against him.

“Mhm,” Scott groaned as he woke up. “Babe, we can’t keep doing this in the mornings. My mom is going to—Isaac?” Scott stopped himself when he sensed that his boyfriend’s pulse was racing but that his chemosignals were not his usual morning arousal. “Isaac, what’s wrong?”

Scott tried to wriggle out of Isaac’s grip and turn around, but the beta would not let him.

“Isaac, what’s happening?”

“It was just a dream, Scott. Don’t worry.”

“I _am_ worrying; you’re upset.”

“’twas just a dream,” Isaac mumbled, burying his nose into Scott’s hair.

Scott turned around now to look directly into Isaac’s eyes, gently placing his hand on his boyfriend’s cheek and caressing it with his thumb.

“Well, tell me about it then,” Scott added with a smile, knowing that with Isaac doing that normally worked miracles.

Isaac scoffed, but Scott kept smiling, and Isaac could not keep his lips from curling into a small smile.

“Well… it was… I don’t know. We were on the bus going to the cross-country competition, but all the pack was there, right? As in _everyone_. With Chris, and Derek, and your mum. Even Liam and that girl I did not know.”

“What girl?”

“Hayden or something like that. Stiles told me.”

“Was I in your dream?”

“Yeah, of course you were,” Isaac leant closer until their foreheads were together. He was much calmer now, and he could feel Scott’s inner wolf nuzzling him for further comfort. Had it not been for the vivid memory of that dream still fresh in his thoughts, Isaac would have been in his happy place. “But you were still injured. And _Theo_ was there.”

“Oh,” Scott noticed how Isaac’s entire body language changed when he mentioned the chimaera. His eyes hardened, his shoulders tensed, his fists clenched.

“He was there with his smug face, and I could feel the same thing I felt when you… when he…” Isaac closed his eyes and Scott landed a kiss on his lips. “Anyways, I punched him bloody.”

“Isaac—“

“No. You don’t get to tell me whom I get to punch in my dreams,” Isaac deadpanned. He could punch anyone and anything in his dreams, and Scott would not have a say on that.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you that,” Scott smiled as he shook his head.

“Okay, what then?”

“Oh, nothing… just that even in your dreams you’re the knight in shining armour that rescues me.”

Isaac chuckled. “Well, I come from a famous line of knights, don’t I?”

Scott managed to defuse the tension. Isaac was much calmer now and brought Scott in for a few needy kisses before Stiles interrupted them with a badly-timed cock-blocking phone call. Scott wriggled out of Isaac’s embrace to answer the phone. Isaac rolled on his back as he groaned in frustration while Scott stuck his tongue out at him while he spoke to their friend.

 _I’m going to murder him,_ Isaac thought. _I’m so going to throw him into Jackson’s pool_. Scott, who could read his boyfriend’s face like an open book, hit Isaac with a pillow.

Scott got out of bed as Stiles explained some of his plans for the day while Isaac went to the bathroom, when suddenly a dark thought crossed his mind. In his dream he had seen someone and Stiles had identified him as Theo, but Isaac had _never_ seen Theo. A cold shiver went down his spine and he quickly searched for his phone.

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:01

Morning

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:01

Sorry for the random question

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:01

Isaac Lahey

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:02

It’s too early in the morning for this crap

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:02

what’s wrong

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:02

Have you got a photo of Theo

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:02

Please

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:02

Isaac…

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:02

Prettyplease

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:02

Pls xxx

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:03

I’ll bake French pastries for you

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:03

Just give me a second!

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:03

Swear you’re not going off to kill him

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:03

It’s not that

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:03

You know I’ll find out if you lie to me

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:04

I promise

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:04

why do you want it

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:04

Research

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:04

ISAAC

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:05

I can’t tell you

<Isaac> 04/07/2020 09:05

yet

His phone rang.

“What’s going on Isaac?” Lydia asked once Isaac answered the call. Amusingly, Isaac could also hear Stiles, who was speaking with Scott, through Lydia’s phone. “I only know of one reason why you’d be interested in Theo and today of all days is the _last_ moment I want you going off to hunt someone down.”

“Hey, Lydia, sorry,” Isaac apologised automatically. Lydia had an authority in her voice that made Isaac feel like a seven-year old. “It’s nothing, I promise. It’s just that… I had a dream that he was in the bus with me, and I had to, erm… punch his face in,” he added with unhidden pride.

The silence at the other end of the line was louder and more expressive than anything Lydia could have said. Isaac knew he could have lied to her, especially on the phone, but he still could not bring himself to do so, so he gave only a version of the truth.

“And why do you need to see his face?” Lydia asked eventually.

“I’m just curious really,” Isaac tried to say nonchalantly. “I mean, it’s odd having an archenemy that I’ve never actually _seen_.”

“And why didn’t you ask Scott?”

“If anyone has a picture of him for any obscure archival reason, that’d be you,” Isaac concluded.

“Fine,” Lydia added after a few silent seconds. “But I’m watching you closely, Lahey,” she added a warning that Isaac did not know whether to take seriously or not. Isaac found that terrifying enough either way.

“Thank you, Lydia. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, well, I know… Are you sure you’re all ok?” Lydia added with concern. “You know you can talk to me about anything, not only to ask for old photos.”

“I know, I know… But thank you so much. I’ll see you later?” Isaac asked referring to the pack party they were having later that day.

“Yeah, don’t worry. You won’t get rid of me that easily…”

They said their goodbyes and Isaac waited nervously for Lydia to send him the picture. Scott was still on the phone with Stiles as he walked into the shower. _God, those two worry me some times_.

His phone buzzed.

<Lydia> 04/07/2020 09:09

[image201406178][download]

Isaac opened the image, and he was thankful that Scott was in the shower and could not see him going pale in worry. The face in the pic was _exactly_ the same that he remembered from his dream. _It doesn’t make sense! How can I dream about someone that I’ve never seen or met? Stiles knows Theo’s face, doesn’t he? And_ he _was the one who pointed him out to me. But then…_ whose _dream was that?_

***

Isaac did not have much time to dwell on those concerns: that evening they were hosting a Fourth of July barbeque, and they both had a busy day of preparations ahead, for which Isaac was thankful.

During the morning, Isaac and Scott drove to the shops to buy some essentials, although each pack member had been instructed to bring a contribution in terms of food or drink.

“Don’t forget the pineapple,” Isaac ordered Scott with a smile before he went down towards the fruit and veg aisle. Even if they had been living together for almost a year, Isaac still enjoyed those mundane and daily moments with Scott: like the way in which he would go to the shop and forget what he was meant to buy, or how he held on to the shopping trolley when Scott pushed it like he did when he was little. Isaac never got tired of those things, partly because they reminded him of his own childhood, when simple things were not extraordinary. Partly also because Scott never ceased to surprise him with the lopsided smile that he _loved_ in those situations. He had never imagined he would enjoy domestic moments with Scott McCall.

“ _Why_ a pineapple?” Scott looked back at Isaac with a confused expression.

“Because I’m going to _roast_ it,” Isaac had already told him, but the alpha’s brain had a very selective memory.

“That sounds gross.”

“I didn’t say you could have any,” Isaac retorted with a grin.

Scott opened his mouth in surprise as Isaac stuck his tongue out and went off with the trolley to get sausages and burger patties.

They spent the afternoon pulling out fold-up chairs from the loft and taking the dinner table out to the back garden. Isaac had also volunteered to bake home-made burger buns (and, on Stiles’ request, a tray of chocolate pastries), but he also had to supervise Scott, who had promised to make two large bowls of potato salad (following closely Isaac’s recipe).

Melissa and Chris came back home from work when the last tray went into the oven and could only admire the boys’ diligent work. With a small nod of approval, they both went upstairs to relax for a second and get changed for the party. Isaac was not sure yet how, but Chris and Melissa had accepted their suggestion to host the pack barbeque at their place. Their only condition had been that _all_ the pack was to be invited, and that naturally included Chris and Melissa, but also Parrish, the Sheriff, and Lydia’s mother (whose relationship with the Sheriff was no longer a secret).

Scott and Isaac had been planning this barbeque for a while. They wanted an excuse to get everyone together and celebrate that they were all alive and well, and that they had survived the cult apocalypse the previous year. Considering what had happened back then, the rest of the town was not very keen on Fourth of July celebrations. Or, at least, that was what Scott had told his mom. Isaac’s secret and real intentions, however, were to take advantage of Chris Argent’s new, top-of-the-line, last-generation, eight-burner, two-tiered, grilling barbeque, which was as big as a spaceship (and probably had cost as much as one). Isaac had been drooling about that grill since the spring when Chris had first bought it.

In groups and pairs, the pack gathered in the McCall house at the convened hour. All fifteen of them: Scott, Isaac, Stiles, Lydia, Liam, Mason, Malia, Derek, Jackson, Ethan, Melissa, Natalie, Noah, Parrish, and Chris. Only Peter was missing, and he was not really missed.

“There you go,” Liam said when he finally found Isaac, who was having the time of his life with the mega grill. He handed him a tray of chops.

“Oh, thanks! How are you?” Isaac asked as he flipped the burgers. “Where have you been?”

“We saw each other _yesterday_ ,” Liam rolled his eyes.

“It’s still too long,” Isaac sniffled and pretended to rub a tear from his eye.

“Yeah, well. Sorry,” Liam said with his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet.

“Ok, what’s _wrong_ with you?” Isaac asked Liam, now serious.

“Nothing,” Liam replied just too quickly.

“Shortie…” Isaac prodded impatiently.

Liam punched him on the arm.

“Nothing, alright?” Liam deflected as he looked uncomfortably around. “And it’s Stiles that you should be worrying about, anyways,” he diverted the issue, and this time Isaac fell for it.

“Ok,” Isaac reduced the gas and turned around, now properly worried. “What’s wrong with Stiles?”

“Dunno… It’s just…” Liam looked around with caution. A party surrounded by werewolves was most definitely _not_ the best place to have a discreet and sensitive conversation. The beta bit his lip and sighed. “Can we not, like, talk about this now?”

“Ok, now you’re worrying me,” Isaac said in a low voice, casting furtive looks around, in case anyone else was listening. “What’s wrong?”

Liam scratched the back of his head. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing.”

“Cool, cool… erm… wanna meet in the preserve?” Liam whispered.

“What are you two mumbling about?” Mason startled them. He pushed his empty plate into Isaac, demanding more food as he looked quizzically at Liam, demanding an explanation.

“…”

“We are just worried about dessert,” Isaac added, seeing that Liam did not know how to lie to his best friend. “Nobody brought any.”

“Dude, you for real?” Mason said with a big grin. Liam silently let out a sigh of relief. “There’s, like, a ton of food. You werewolves are insane… And I saw a pineapple!”

“Oh yeah, but that’s fruit—that does not count as dessert,” Isaac dismissed Mason’s idea with a cocky smirk.

“What’s with werewolves and sweets?” Mason chuckled while Isaac placed a burger on Mason’s plate. “Come on Liam, has Lydia told you about her last experiment?”

Mason nodded at Liam, indicating that he should follow him to talk to Lydia. Liam looked nervously at Isaac for a split of a second, who discreetly nodded in agreement – _tomorrow in the preserve_. Before they could say anything else, Jackson came over to Isaac with hungry eyes, demanding more food, and Lahey was happy to oblige. He followed Liam with his eyes as Jackson and Ethan told him one story or another, and he then looked at Stiles. They _definitely_ needed to have a talk in the morning.

***

The barbeque party would have continued into the early hours of the morning if Mrs McCall had not put her foot down and kindly reminded the pack that she was the one in charge, not Scott, and that 1am was late enough for those of them who had to work in the morning. It did not matter how many times the alpha publicly pleaded, the pack matriarch did not budge (which Isaac and Stiles, giggling in the corner, found hilarious).

The morning after, Scott went off to the clinic to see Deaton and to work on some summer assignments. But that was ok, because Isaac had an important appointment of his own with Liam in the preserve. One way or another he would find out what Liam thought was wrong with Stiles. So once Scott was gone, Isaac lost no time to get ready and text Liam to confirm that they were meeting in thirty minutes.

“Hey,” Liam said without much enthusiasm when he jumped out of the car.

“Hey,” Isaac replied, trying to sound cheerful. “All good?”

Liam looked at him with a worried face and his hands in his pockets. “Come on, let’s walk,” he added, ducking his head. Isaac rolled his eyes, but followed his friend into the preserve.

It felt odd walking through the preserve—or so Isaac thought. He was busy thinking about his own stuff and looking around, so he only half-listened to Liam summarise his perspective of the previous day’s party. It was hard for Isaac to assimilate that one year ago that same forest they were leisurely walking across had been crawling with brain-washed Beacon Hills residents, cultists sacrificing humans at the nemeton, and gruesome and disgusting fungoid crustacean aliens from beyond Neptune.

It was even more disturbing when they walked in front of the cordoned and derelict park office building, where they had found Peter and Christine trapped by the cultists. Nobody knew what was going to happen to it, for a year after the events it was still there, like a grim reminder. And while they could face walking by the abandoned building, they did not have the nerve or the stomach to visit the old quarry or the caverns.

They stopped at one of the grass-covered clearings and they laid back, hands behind their heads and staring at the sky. By then Liam had already shut up. Isaac had been responsive, and had contributed to the conversation (he was not _that_ rude), but they had not much more to say.

“So?” Isaac said eventually, tired of waiting for Liam to actually discuss what they were meant to be discussing.

“So _what_?”

“So what about you tell me what you thing is going on that requires us to have a secret meeting in the preserve away from nosey werewolves?”

“I don’t know…” Liam said, but Isaac knew that he really meant that he _knew_ but was not ready to talk about it yet. Eventually, after a long pause, Liam spoke again. “I just thought that it would help get things in perspective, you know? Like, coming here and seeing that it is all over and back to normal… Something like that.”

Isaac processed Liam’s sentence, until he got down to the actual point. “You don’t think it’s over?”

“I didn’t _say_ that.”

“No. Exactly. You _didn’t_ say it.” Liam groaned and Isaac had to supress a giggle. “Why do you think it’s not over?” Isaac prodded.

“You remember Stiles yesterday? Remember I told you he seemed…. off?”

They both remembered how Stiles had had an edge to his voice all evening. There had been almost-imperceptible ticks and twitches that betrayed that there was _something_ going on, even if he was not saying anything. They both could really tell Stiles was worried about something.

“Yeah?” Isaac remembered, although he had not noticed until Liam pointed it out.

“I’m just worried that there might be some… Dunno… consequences?” Liam bit his lip. He did not know if that was the word he wanted to use. It made it sound more ominous than he wanted.

“Consequences…?” Isaac prompted, hoping for a more elaborated answer.

“Consequences for what happened last summer…” Liam whispered.

“ _I know what you did last summer_!” Isaac said with a grin – because he _had_ to. Liam was unimpressed, so he threw a punch, but the other werewolf managed to dodge it.

“He was kidnapped by an elder being after all, you know?” Isaac added in the patronising tone that made Liam roll his eyes.

“I’m worried, Isaac…” Liam admitted as he sat up and hugged his knees. He still kept his head up, though, staring into the distance.

Isaac sat up, resting on his elbows, but said nothing and waited for Liam to add something else. He really hoped Liam lacked the emotional constipation that seemed to characterise half of the betas in the pack (thinking especially about Derek, Jackson and himself). A bumblebee buzzed lazily around them. Isaac rolled his eyes. It seemed Liam needed a bit of prodding.

“What kind of consequences is your little werewolf brain concocting?”

Liam sighed. “What if Stiles is still affected by Nyarl—“ Liam stopped mid-word, looking around cautiously before continuing. “Affected by… you-know-who?”

“Lord Voldemort?” Isaac deadpanned.

Liam turned around, his eyes flashing yellow – he had had enough of Isaac’s wit. Isaac simply gave him a smug smirk. Liam threw his water bottle at him, but Isaac caught it without difficulty.

“Ok, ok… soz,” Isaac returned the water bottle and put his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, I know what you mean, Liam.”

“Isn’t this what happened with the nogitsune?” Liam looked straight into Isaac’s eyes. His friend was really worried. To be fair, Isaac had also worried about that, but until now he had never had any reason to suppose that Stiles was not being himself.

“Let’s give him a couple of days,” Isaac said, being helpful for once. “Maybe he’s just processing the anniversary. Let’s see how he’s doing and if he’s still off next week, we’ll do something… We’ll check if he still has the mark of the self.” They all still had the Japanese kanji for self behind their ears.

Liam did not seem happy with the answer, and fell silent. Waiting did not seem like the thing to do, but they did not have any better ideas. They remained silent for a while, looking at the bugs and the clouds fly by. He took a long gulp from his bottle, and they both _heard_ his stomach rumbling.

“Did you have breakfast?” Isaac asked in the same condescending tone he had used earlier.

“Yeah…” Liam nodded and slowly stood up. “Come on. Let’s go get lunch.”

“I’ll ask who’s free,” Isaac offered as he pulled his phone out. “And don’t worry, young Padawan. We’ll have a chat with Stiles in a few days. Let’s keep an eye on him, but let’s not make a mountain out of a mole hill. Maybe it’ll all be nothing after all?” the taller werewolf added hopefully. Liam looked at him and nodded silently after a pause.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Isaac pulled a smile and put his arm across Liam’s shoulders, leading them away from the clearing.

Both werewolves walked slowly back towards the car park in silence, wearing mirroring expressions of concern. Both were genuinely troubled, but both were hoping to deceive each other. They were worried about Stiles, true; but what Liam had pointed out (the possible _consequences_ of the kidnapping and their dealings with Nyarlathotep) struck closer to home than either of them were willing to admit. Their concern about Stiles was a mask to hide their true fear: that _they_ were the ones affected by the consequences. That _they_ were, somehow, the ones in the distorted ripples created when Nyarlathotep appeared in their reality. But they did not know for certain. They could not tell if there was something true or if it was all mere paranoia. It was all fears, suspicions, and _dreams_. Dreams that took over their nights. Dreams that were unspeakably lucid and unnecessarily real. Dreams that defied any previous oneiric experience they had had.

But… if it was all dreams and nightmares, it was pointless to make a fuss, right? After all, dreams themselves are a part of dreaming, and no more.

***

The talk with Liam that morning had done nothing to ease Isaac’s worries about his own dreams. That evening he and Scott were having dinner at home with Melissa and Chris, and they all could tell that he was sulking, even without supernatural senses. Isaac admitted that it was just the anniversary of what had happened, which was as much truth as it was an excuse, and for the time being the Argent-McCall household was happy with Isaac’s explanation.

Upstairs in their room, Scott tried to comfort Isaac, so he just talked about anything and everything, hoping to keep Isaac’s mind off whatever thought was nibbling at his mind. It all seem to work, because the beta was much more relaxed when they finally went to sleep.

Before Isaac opened his eyes, he already knew he was up for another odd dream. He felt a shiver go down his spine, and wished he could feel Scott still cuddling against him, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. He took a deep breath and he exited his own darkness.

He was on the train, speeding through the Californian landscape, and going back to Berkeley.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Melissa said from the seat opposite. She was still in her scrubs. “We know how hard you tried, but you’re running late.”

“Mum? What are you doing here?”

“Hurry up, Isaac,” Melissa insisted, tapping on the table with her finger.

Isaac looked down. He was sitting at the exam desk, staring at the exam questions. He only had forty minutes left and he had not answered any of them? _God, what were you thinking! Lahey, get your ass in gear!_ He took a deep breath and began to answer the questions. He scribbled furiously with his pen, trying to ignore the rickety noises of the train.

“How is it going, Isaac?” Chris asked from the seat across the aisle as he put his book down.

“It’s getting there. I only need a few more minutes,” Isaac replied with his tongue sticking out and his brow frowned in concentration.

_Come on Lahey. You spent three years reading about all this crap. You can put an answer together._

The train came to a station and stopped. A voice announced that they had fifteen more minutes to finish their exam. Isaac noticed that he only had answered one of the questions. He cursed.

“You’ll be fine, son,” Chris said as he put on an old-style fedora. “We’ll be waiting home for you.”

He stood up and offered his arm to Melissa, who was now wearing a polka-dot pin-up dress. She took Chris’ arm and also stood up to leave the train.

“Don’t keep your brother waiting,” she said as she waved goodbye from the platform.

“Waiting? Where’s Scott?” Isaac shouted out the window as the train slowly pulled away from the station with a loud whistle in a cloud of steam and smoke.

“We’re not talking about Scott,” he heard Melissa say.

Isaac sat back on his seat, trying to make sense of Melissa’s words when he looked down at his exam. Something was not right…

“Oh, you must be _joking_!” Isaac muttered.

Because instead of actual answers, all he had written were bits of dialogue from films he could remember. Mostly _Star Wars_ , but also _Guardians of the Galaxy_ and _The Lord of the Rings_. Isaac clenched his fist and snapped his pencil.

A loud bell rang.

“Hand over your exams! Stop writing!” a voice called behind him.

_Fuck. No-no-no, I still have time…_

Isaac started scribbling down answers as fast as he could.

“Hand over the exam, Isaac,” the invigilator told him.

“Just gimme a minute…”

“Your time is over—“

“Please, please, I can do this. I can answer. I- I-“

“Mr Lahey, stop writing!”

“No, please! I can’t hand _this_ in. I’ll fail!”

“I guess you’re still a disappointment to your parents,” the invigilator said, way too close to Isaac’s ear, and in a voice that he recognised even if he had not heard it in years.

“ _D- D- Dad_?”

“Hand over your exam!” Isaac’s father yelled.

Isaac was about to hand it over when something clicked in his head. It was not the certainty that his father was dead, or that he was in a dream. It was something else… an unexpected and unseen confidence. Something inside telling him that this did not have to happen.

“No,” Isaac said. The train stopped. His father faded away. The exam was still in front of him, though. “I need to get out of here,” he said as he approached the door.

“Wait! You haven’t finished your exam! You need to finish your exam!” a voice called from behind.

“Coach?”

Isaac turned around only to see Coach Finstock in a conductor’s uniform (whistle included, _obviously_ ), pointing at his exam.

“Please, Coach, give me a break?”

“No! You must!” Coach insisted. But then Isaac felt the same warm confidence inside him, so he just ignored him and headed to the door.

“Sorry, Coach. Not this time!”

The moment he crossed the door behind him, he heard a bell ringing.

“Will you please open?” a voice called from a nearby room.

“Open what?” Isaac asked. He was in a living room with a sofa and two armchairs around a glass coffee table. There were fishing trophies on the walls and a bookcase on the far side.

“Open the _door_ , you unnecessarily tall werewolf,” Stiles said as he walked into the living room, holding a large and heavy cardboard box in his hands. “I’m a little busy right now?”

Isaac rolled his eyes and walked to the front door. The doorbell rang again.

“Oh, it’s you,” Liam said unimpressed when Isaac opened. “And we’re wearing the same shirt again?”

Isaac looked down and noticed that they were, in fact, wearing the same green Henley, only that Isaac was wearing a scarf and Liam was not.

“It’s just so I know that you’re werewolves of the same pack!” Stiles called from the living room.

“You chose our clothes? What are you talking about?” Liam said as he closed the front door behind him.

“Well, I think that something is happening,” Stiles announced as he rustled through the box, shifting papers and clinking objects. “I don’t know what exactly. Not just yet, of course… but I’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“I’ll know when I know,” Stiles huffed unhelpfully, still looking for something inside that box. “Whatever it is, it has to do with what Isaac’s got in his pocket.”

“I have nothing in my pocket,” Isaac said crossing his arms on his chest and leaning against the living room door’s frame.

“Well,” Stiles scoffed as he looked up and pointed. “Either you have something in there or you’re _very_ happy to see us… and Scott is a _very_ lucky boy – ohmygod, I don’t even know why I just put that image in my mind?”

Liam chuckled, and Isaac rolled his eyes with a smirk. But at the same time, he brought down his hands to his shorts and he felt something in his pocket. Surely there had been nothing in it a second ago? He pulled it out carefully.

“Guys?” Isaac called. His two friends looked at him intently.

He extended his hand, trembling slightly, showing what he had just pulled out of his pocket: a heavy iron ring with two, large, shiny bronze keys.

Isaac woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Ian Bohen (who plays Peter) began his career in "Hercules: The Legendary Journeys"
> 
> AND you'll have guessed that I'm not a big fan of Theo... Sorry :/
> 
> Anyroad. Kudos and comments extremely welcome as always!


	6. A howl in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It doesn’t have to make sense,” Aurelius chuckled nervously. “It is just like that. It lives beyond, in the far corners of time, and it hunts life from our world! It’s a hunter. It hunts. And we are now the prey!”
> 
> OR: The Sleepers reach their final destination at the beginning of time, but they find out that something else had been looking for them there...

After discovering that the Earth was older than a few thousand years, the seven philosophers were bolder in their time leaps, travelling tens of thousands of years in one go, and then increasing it to hundreds of thousands, millions, and tens of millions. Their minds were completely blown by the antiquity of the planet and the different creatures and constellations they discovered with each jump. The thrill of the discovery gave them such an elation that, with each leap into the past, their resolution to reach the origins of the world became stronger.

Whenever they had to stop in what they came to think of as ‘the present’ in Ephesos to rest and write down their discoveries, they were unhappy and bored – the calm and normalcy of their own time could not remotely be compared to the excitement of the mysterious past. Simple things that they had been looking forward to in their life before the discovery of time travellinghad now become bland and tedious. How could going for a walk to the agora compare to seeing large herds of furry unicorns grazing across the frozen plains? How could one be excited about a day in the baths when the previous night they had visited rivers wide as cities populated by giant lizards? The regular and Euclidean angles and corners that surrounded them in Ephesos were laughable after seeing the curved angles and diedric possibilities of the Dreamlands.

Their stops in the present were soon reduced to quick trips to the market to buy food, travelling clothes and writing equipment. Everything else could wait, and if it could not, then it was probably not worth the effort. Nothing compared to new stars and constellations under a younger sun. Eventually, they broke all contact with their friends and family in Ephesos. They dismissed their slaves and only Aurelius kept one, who was instructed to keep guard by the cellar and keep the door shut until they opened from the inside. For all intents and purposes, their only objective in life was to leap into the Dreamlands to travel into the great unknown that preceded.

Their leaps into the past were not always pleasant though. In one occasion they found themselves running away from a giant bird with teeth and claws, and it was only because they managed to hide in a cave that they saved their hides. The fright and fear were such that they could not fall asleep, which made them think. Once they were in the Dreamlands, Demetria led them to one of the apothecaries of Ulthar, the town where no person may kill a cat. The old woman behind the counter told them about the fruit of the lotus, which they could use to make a potion that would put them to sleep in a matter of seconds. When they awoke, they spent a month searching for the lotus flower fruits, which they bought at an exorbitant price, but they got their potion in the end.

Eventually, the seven decided that they would attempt their longest leap so far – the one that would confirm the true age of the Earth and of the Cosmos. They got ready for the long trip in the same way an army might prepare for a campaign. They gathered tents, water skins, travelling cloaks, the _mechanikon_ , their writing equipment, and all other sorts of things they could imagine that might be useful. Even if they did not know how it worked, they knew that their physical bodies (and whatever object happened to be around them) abandoned the present every time they jumped through a rift in the Dreamlands. Heraklios thought that their minds were tethered to their bodies, and that whenever they crossed the rift their minds pulled the bodies towards them until mind and body snapped together at the new present, and they woke up. But that was just a theory.

On the agreed night, the seven descended one more time to Aurelius’ cellar where all their kit was stashed, ready to jump into the past. They bid each other farewell in the present before drinking their potion and falling asleep.

In the Dreamlands, the seven sleepers hiked with all their equipment to the nearest town, where they hired a couple of mules to carry their baggage all the way to the slopes of Mount Sidrak. There, the philosophers had identified, after long and arduous searches, a cave with a curious crystalline formation, whose iridescent purple and green milky faces formed the precise angle that Cleomena had calculated they needed for their jump.

Their expectation built in parallel to their excitement as they first ascended the slope and then descended into the cave.

“Is this it?” Demetria asked with her eyes fixed on the crystal, which was as tall as a house.

“This is it,” Cleomena confirmed, measuring the angle once again. “This is _it_!” she repeated barely containing her excitement. Her companions around her shifted in anticipation, mumbling amongst themselves, their eyes fixed on the giant mineral.

“Ok,” Aurelius said with seriousness, but not fully concealing his anticipation. “We all know what to do.”

The seven held hands and smiled at each other, nodding emphatically. Demetria squeezed Anthemios’ hand, and the younger man returned it. They looked into each other’s eyes and, with one final nod of Aurelius, they closed their eyes and focused.

***

When they opened their eyes, they found themselves on the slopes of a mountain. The air was unexpectedly warm and suffocatingly thin. Demetria found herself wheezing and fighting to keep awake – her head suddenly feeling very light. Everything around them was unnaturally different. True, they had been in periods of the past when it was extremely cold or extremely hot, but they still had been able to _breathe_. Around them, to make things worse, the wind blew like it was coming straight out of a furnace: dry, scorching, and stinking of sulphur. Demetria struggled to stand up, and had to give up; she did not have the strength to do it.

“Gods below,” she managed to say. All her companions seemed to be suffering in the same way as her. “This must be it! Gaia has just been born!”

She had a fit of coughing, which only stopped when Anthemios handed her a water skin. Heraklios and Hypathia crawled towards them, begging for a sip of water.

“Not even the gods have been born yet, I’d say…” Aurelius said with short breath. “My dear fellows… I think we have done it!”

Even if they patted each other’s shoulders, none of them felt in the mood for celebrations. The heat, the scorching wind, the burning sun! The sun which seemed larger than ever, burning a violent orange rather than the warm yellow they knew. Heraklios and Anthemios used all of their strengths in setting up a tent that would keep the sun from hurting them further, and the remaining five soon crawled their way to the protective shade.

“This is unbelievable,” Demetria whispered to no one in particular. The rest could only nod in agreement.

From the shadow of the canvas she finally got a proper look at their surroundings. There were no plants or animals. There was no green around them whatsoever, only scorched patches of brown and grey rocks. They could see a large body of water in the distance, but it was so dark blue that it was almost black and uninviting. And the sky… the sky was even worse. None of them had ever seen the skies of Earth of such a deep hue of purple, which seemed to them a combination of the deepest blue of a moonlit night mixed with the burning orange of the young sun that shone above them.

“What are we going to do now?” Demetria asked after a long period of silence. It was clear to her that they were completely absorbed by their alien surroundings.

Aurelius wheezed and cleaned the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “We must wait ‘til the night, when it will be cooler. Then we will be able to see the stars and… and…” He had to stop to breathe heavily. “And then we will know how far we have jumped…”

“It should be close to eight hundred million years,” Cleomena spoke, putting some ointment on her burnt skin.

“Eight-what?” Demetria puffed alarmed before reclining back against her traveling blanket. “That’s… that’s… phew. I can’t understand?”

“We’ll have to calculate the date with the stars,” Aurelius suggested.

“I very much doubt that _this_ far back we will… we will be able to recognise any star…” Anthemios explained as he fought for breath. “I wouldn’t know where to start looking for stars we could remotely know!”

The seven fell silent. The implications of what they were experiencing deserved a few moments of silent reflexion. _They had reached the origins of the Earth!_ It was difficult to comprehend, to assimilate the idea that the Earth was far more ancient than anyone had imagined. They had long ago got over the fact that humans had only lived for a few tens of thousands of years, and that before that the gods had contented themselves with the creation of bizarre and extraneous animals of all types, shapes, and colours. But now they had reached a point when there were no animals or plants whatsoever!

By nightfall the seven philosophers had (slowly) put up their camp and got accustomed to the thinness of the air. They had not been prepared, however, for the plummeting temperature that followed after sunset, and in the absence of any sort of trees, they could not build a fire. Yet none of that mattered when they _saw_ the night sky above them.

Wrapped in all their cloaks and blankets, the seven sleepers admired the thousands upon thousands of brilliant stars, much brighter than they had ever seen, and each of them glowing in a distinctive colour. There were so many that they could not decide where the north star was, so it was impossible for them to even pretend to calculate how much the stars had moved. Even the moon was different, glowing so bright and so pure and with fewer silver seas, that it felt as if Selene had only just been born. Only the Milky Way, which ran across the sky splitting it into two, was unchanged.

Despite the biting cold and the insufficient air, the seven Ephesians were euphoric. They were too busy pointing out stars, looking for planets, drawing diagrams and taking notes, but they were mostly congratulating each other for achieving the unthinkable. Even Heraklios, who normally was serious when not sullen, came to Demetria and gave her a strong hug with a big grin.

It was soon after that Demetria looked towards the horizon, towards the sea. None of them had been paying much attention because they were too focused on the heavens. It might have been because it was much darker then, but Demetria could swear that the sea was _glowing_.

“Aurelius? Heraklios?” She called, sitting down on a rock lest she fell down. “Come over.”

“What happens?” Heraklios said, a smile still wide on his face, despite his panting.

“Look… the sea! The sea is _shining_!”

“By all the gods,” the former wrestler exclaimed, sitting down on the rock next to Demetria. “It is indeed glowing… Come over, all of you!” he shouted, and the rest soon came.

“How is that even possible?”

The sea seemed much shallower now, probably because they could see through the waves into the bottom, which was illuminated in regular patterns. They clearly saw a lattice of glowing hexagons, all fitted tightly together like a beehive, each side illuminated by shining green-blue light, and the corners radiating in a combination of blue, purple and green. It was difficult for them to judge from where they stood, but it even appeared that the hexagons and the lights formed some sort of _city_. 

“We must go down… down to the sea and look closely!” Aurelius instructed after a long pause.

“Are you insane?” Demetria tiredly turned around to confront her companion. Surely he was not meaning for them to go and inspect that—whatever it was?

“I insist,” Aurelius added, as he walked to a position where he could address his six colleagues. “It is the first time we have seen any hint of life in this moment of the past… And that looks like a city! We have found the first people of Earth!”

“Do you remember how difficult it was to set up the tents earlier today?” Heraklios said, all his happiness gone. “Have you even tried walking beyond this hill? It’s impossible to walk in this air!”

“We’ll be out of breath before we reach the bottom of the slope,” Anthemios agreed, although his tone was more conciliatory. “And that would be leaving all our equipment behind.”

“I think it’s safe to say that there are no bandits around these hills,” Aurelius joked.

“We came here for a reason,” Demetria tried to intervene. “We came to see how old the Earth was, and this is the farthest we will be able to go. Surely our mission is accomplished? Aurelius?” she asked after an uncomfortable pause.

But Aurelius was simply looking down. He eventually turned around from his friends and stared into the dark, cold distance.

“ _Aurelius_?”

“That was only the first part of the plan…” he admitted in a low voice.

“What are you talking about?” Heraklios asked, clearly angry.

“In the _Book of Eibon_ I read about the first peoples of Earth, of the first people who worshiped the gods and that came down from the stars.”

“And who are these men of another age?” Anthemios asked with a mix of fear and curiosity.

“These were not humans like we are… They are not the children of Prometheus like we are. These are the people of other gods. _Outer_ gods…” Aurelius turned around to look at his companions, who felt a shiver down their spines when their friend continued the explanation. “The book simply calls them the _Antiquiores_ … the Old Ones.”

***

The creature trotted through the aether in between realities, following the scent that came in waves, radiating from the various points where the fabric had been briefly broken through. The scent called to it, dragged it towards the source. The creature _needed_ to find the origin of that smell that had come from beyond the veil.

As it advanced further, the creature noticed that the scent was getting stronger. And when it got to the summit of one of the impossible angles of its own reality, the creature (the _hunter_ ) could see it all so much more clearly: above, a bright yellow line had slithered through the void. Along it there were intermittent points of light where the puncture through realities was larger. It was from those points that the scent was coming, flowing in concentric ripples that undulated across the void. And the points were getting closer and closer.

In fact, the latest point was _almost_ within reach, so close to the creature that it decided to risk it. With a snarling growl, the creature leaped up towards the nearest puncture in the aether and chased the scent.

***

“I’ve had enough,” Heraklios said as he turned around and headed back to the tent.

“Wait, what are these Old Ones? And why would you not tell us?” Demetria wanted do know.

“The Old Ones. The Creators!” Aurelius said as if that was the only delirious explanation they needed. “The book explains! They came down from the stars to live on Earth.”

“What are you talking about? Are you saying those… _Atlantes_ and their underwater city are actually elder creatures?”

“Forget Atlantis!” Aurelius dismissed Hypathia’s bleak comparison. “The Old Ones are the original inhabitants of Earth… They have _the_ knowledge. _All_ the knowledge we could dream of. And they… Well. They created Ubbo-Shatla, the _abzu_!”

The five philosophers still around Aurelius remained silent, taken aback by Aurelius’ revelation. Ubbo-Shatla was the secret mystic name given to the abzu, the primordial oceanic abyss in the cursed Sumerian creation myth known as the _Enuma Elish_. It was the original chthonic substance from where all life on Earth had emerged. The Babylonians and the Assyrians had tried for centuries to ban, destroy and vanish the secret name and to eliminate all the texts and tablets which included it.

“You want us to walk down to that shore and _talk_ to these Old Ones?” Demetria said, rubbing her temples with the pads of her fingers. The lack of air was definitely affecting her, and she could not believe she had just heard that. “How are we even going to do that? They won’t speak Greek!”

“It does not matter,” Aurelius insisted, his eyes wide open, and his smile bordering on delusional. “There will be a way… they are knowledgeable and wise. They’re advanced beyond our wildest dreams…”

Aurelius looked around, but none of the companions seemed willing to follow this time. They had travelled to the earliest corner of Earth and had seen the first stars that shone upon the planet, but approaching and contacting an elder people from the stars was a line beyond natural philosophy they were not ready to cross. They all shook their heads nervously and looked at each other.

“I think we should go with Heraklios,” Hypathia said as she stood up and walked towards the tent, abandoning Aurelius to his folly.

“You are cowards,” Aurelius spat, his expression now turned into a painful mask of betrayal. “You are content to admire the stars and the heavens, and count their number and calculate their courses… but when it comes to the actual matter of the stars, the _descendants_ of the stars you give up!”

“You know that’s not it—“

“That is exactly _it_ , Anthemios,” Aurelius growled. “You are no better than our predecessors, happy to look from afar, making idle interpretations that serve no purpose…”

“Hang on a second,” Demetria warned with a stern face, not liking the dismissal tone Aurelius was using, minimising their achievements as if they had simply been following his lead. “We have been doing far more applied mathematics than anyone since the time of Pythagoras. By Zeus, Aurelius! We have travelled through time and the metauniverse of the Land of the Dreams!”

“Mere inconsequential spectators!” he spat. “You’d happily stay in your seat and watch the universe unfold in front of you like a play!”

Aurelius was now fuming with rage. Demetria and the other sleepers who had not gone back to the tent stood still as they stared silently at their friend turning angrily against them. Nobody said a thing, as it was clear that Aurelius was not going to listen – he had already made a decision, and it was a plan that none of them would follow.

“Go back!” he yelled with scorn. “Go back to the tent. Stay safe within your limited confines. Gods forbid you would ever try anything that challenged your fragile understanding of the world…”

Barking insults and wheezing, Aurelius slowly made his way away from the camp. Demetria had a go at following him, but Anthemios held her back. He argued that Aurelius could not go that far, and that he was sure to return soon, that he just needed to calm down. Demetria hoped that was true.

A few minutes later, and just as Anthemios had predicted, Aurelius returned to the camp to everyone’s relief, even if he did not say anything to anyone. He simply walked to a corner, where he wrapped himself up and sulked as they all finally went to sleep.

When Demetria woke up in the boiling morning heat, she took a long drink of water and hungrily munched on a honey cake. Their original plan was to stay two whole days and two whole nights in this distant past, knowing that they could always come back, so she was excited about her new day ahead, all the worries about Aurelius’ proposal forgotten. But as she looked around, she noticed that the corner where Aurelius had fallen asleep was now empty, and a feeling of dread settled in her stomach. She swallowed the cake with difficulty before asking aloud.

“Where is Aurelius?”

Considering the events of the previous evening, and knowing that they needed to be seven in order to jump safely through the rift, Demetria’s question soon turned into a call of alarm as the remaining philosophers began to search and call Aurelius’ name.

“He’s taken the book!” Hypathia said with worry.

“I can see him!” Heraklios cursed. “He’s walking towards the coast!”

***

His skin was sunburnt and, at points, blistered, but at least he had a good head start. In the dead of the night, Aurelius had taken a water skin and a few rations (and the _Book of Eibon_ ) and had slowly made his way towards the coast – his way towards the Old Ones who would have all the answers to his questions. He resented his travelling companions, who had betrayed him and had chickened out just when the final answer to all their questions was within reach. _Fools. Cowards. Idiots!_

With great pain and difficulty he made it to the shore almost by sunset. When he reached the black-sanded beach he dropped his bag and walked straight into the water, the cold and salty sea soothing his hot skin immediately. After a few seconds of respite, Aurelius walked back to his bag and stood on top of one of the boulders that framed the cove. From there, and to his great delight, Aurelius could _see_.

Through the limpid waters, barely disrupted by the calm waves, the philosopher could see an entire city spreading in front of him. Most of the buildings were under the surface, but the tallest of them broke through the water and stood tall above the waves. Buildings of black and polished basalt lined streets and squares arranged in hexagonal patterns which glistened with the same intense green, blue and purple lights they had seen the previous evening.

He was _there_! Aurelius had made it to the city of the Old Ones!

He retired back to the sand and, carefully, pulled the infamous _Book of Eibon_ out of his bag. As soon as he had it, he started reading aloud one of the chants. He sang the ancient text in the forgotten language, reading the words aloud over and over again until he memorised it. He continued chanting, working himself into a trance and feeling the energy of the primordial Earth answering to his call. It was at that point, however, when he was interrupted by familiar human voice calling his name.

“Aurelius! Aurelius, stop! Come back!”

But Aurelius did not stop – he kept on chanting louder and louder. Before his two human companions could get close enough to him, he produced a small bone flute which he had brought with him without anyone noticing, and blew a scale of ominous and discordant notes.

“Aurelius! Come back with us!” the clear and desperate voice of Demetria kept calling. She was definitely getting closer.

Demetria and Heraklios pushed themselves to a run when they reached the soft sand of the beach. Whatever Aurelius was doing needed to stop, and they needed to drag him back to their camp before _something_ happened.

Aurelius kept his focus and blew into the flute again, repeating the same alien melody until the surface of the sea began to tremble and boil. A number of dark, terrifying forms began to cluster under the surface, slowly crawling towards the beach. Demetria and Heraklios got to Aurelius at the exact same moment when a handful of iridescent pink starfish-shaped heads broke through the waves and replied to Aurelius’ call.

_Tekili-li. Tekili-li. TEKILI-LI._

***

The hunter kept its steady trotting across the void, getting closer and closer to the bright point of yellow light that was the source of that offensive smell. The ripples that sprang out of the rupture were more intense the closer he got to the source. The creature snarled and pushed itself faster. It could nearly _reach_ the rift…

***

“Let’s get out of here before those creatures from Tartaros take us to an ocean grave!” Heraklios said as he grabbed Aurelius’ arms and dragged him away from the shore.

“Let me be!” Aurelius wriggled. “ _I_ have summoned the Old Ones! They have answered _my_ call!”

“Hera’s mercy… he’s totally insane!” Demetria said a she tried to help Heraklios.

“Let go of me!” Aurelius yelled to no avail.

With all their strength they managed to pull Aurelius and drag him against his will just as the creatures that were gathering in the shallow water emerged. Demetria caught a glimpse of them and refused to look at them any further, focusing all her energy in taking their companion away into safety. But the image she saw would forever after haunt her dreams.

Two different creatures emerged from the sea, creating an eerie fluting noise, disturbingly similar to what Aurelius had been playing. _Tekili-li. Tekili-li_. One of the creatures had looked like a ridged barrel, with a starfish-shaped head and tentacles protruding from the ridges of the torso. Those creatures at least were understandable and relatable, inasmuch as they had a head, a body, and limbs. The other one, however… The other creature was the seed of nightmares. It was an amorphous blob of deep-ocean sludge: black, pestilent, shapeless. It had bubbled and grown limbs and eyes which had almost immediately disappeared, sending shivers down Demetria’s spine.

“Shoggoth!” Aurelius yelled in a high-pitch cry followed by a cackle, after which their friend stopped struggling and let himself be pulled. “They found us! I found _them_!”

“By the furies, I swear, Aurelius, if we make it alive out of this place I shall kill you myself.”

Behind them, the Old Ones and the shoggoth were already on dry land, calling out at them in their shrilling piping voices. _Tekili-li- Tekili-li_.

“They are calling us, Heraklios!” Aurelius insisted with a tone which in any other circumstance might have been taken for excited joy. “Gods above, they are _calling us_!”

Heraklios and Demetria doubled their efforts to get out of that accursed beach, but dragging a person (even by the sea, where the air was more breathable) was a considerable effort. Demetria refused to look back, and she could only judge the closeness of their pursuers by Heraklios’ frantic gestures. But when Aurelius’ cackling turned into a scream of terror, Demetria’s will failed and she turned around.

Out of one of the angular edges of the boulder on the beach, an iridescent plane of light suddenly emerged. It was blinding bright and impossibly thin. She had only seen that when they opened a rift in the Dreamlands, and could not believe that a rift was opening in their reality. Before she could say any word of warning, a dense and acrid smoke filled the plane of light.

The Old Ones and the shoggoth changed their piping noises to evident calls of alarm and danger. Demetria knew they needed to flee, but she was paralysed. She could only silently glare with her mouth open at the terrified alien creatures trying to walk away back into the waves. Before she could ask herself about what could induce such terror into those beings, she _saw_.

A pale and ghostly snout came out of the smoke, accompanied by a growl that chilled her to her bones. The snout and the head that followed were unrelated to any other creature Demetria had seen before. The creature had a long snout with three serrated jaws that opened in a triangle, out of which a long and tubular tongue came out. It was a pale shade of purplish green, but it was also almost aethereal, for the light shone through it and it had no shadow. The head had an entire ring of black eyes that looked in every direction, and the neck that followed was long and thick and slimy.

The Old Ones chimed something urgent as they retreated towards the sea, and the shoggoth began to grow blade-like limbs and thick, protective scales as it marched towards the creature that was emerging from the rift. The creature took one step outside its smoky plane, so Demetria could see its clawed paws, large as shovels. Then the shoggoth charged against it, blades first, but the other creature simply lunged with its open mouth and stuck its tongue into the blobby black shoggoth. The unspeakable squeak that followed shook the three humans enough to get them going, Aurelius soon running unaided away from the beach and towards their camp.

“What was that?” Heraklios asked as they ran. Behind them, the squeak was soon followed by an ear-splitting piping noise and a hideous sucking sound.

“That’s a Hound…” Aurelius wheezed without stopping.

“That is no dog,” Demetria said, trying to catch up.

“That’s not a hound from this Earth” Aurelius replied looking ahead, but unable to hide the shiver that visibly shook his entire frame. “It’s a Hound of Tindalos.”

Behind them, the loud growl that they had now learnt to associate with the Hound kept going on, interrupted every now and then by the dying piping screams of the Old Ones and the eventual blast of something exploding.

When they were far enough and the disgusting sucking and piping noises of the battle behind them had died down, Heraklios allowed them to sit behind a rock to get their breath back.

“You knew about those creatures,” he plainly accused as he sat by Demetria.

“Yes.”

“Not about the Old Ones. I meant bout the killer creature. About the Hound.”

Aurelius nodded nervously. His hands were shaking. “We need to go. We need to get away from this time. And we need to do it _now_.”

***

When they finally made it to their camp, the three were completely exhausted as they had hardly stopped at all since they saw the rift opening, but the gurgling noises and screeches of terror that they had heard behind them as the Hound fought the Old Ones were enough to keep them running for the hills – and for their _lives_.

Their companions were relieved when they saw them approaching, but their faces changed when they heard the warning cries and the wild-eyed expressions their three friends carried with them.

“What’s going on? Heraklios, Demetria, by Hermes, what’s wrong?” Anthemios asked as he reached for them.

“No time. We must go” Heraklios said, rushing towards the tent, ignoring the questions.

“Can anyone explain?” Anthemios insisted while the rest of the group gathered around with worried faces. “Demetria, please, tell me, you look dreadful!”

“The hound!” she said, her left eye twitching slightly as she looked over her shoulder. “The hound is coming for us!”

“Please, you’re making no sense,” Anthemios said, feeling that Demetria’s panic was slowly taking him over. “What hound? What did you see? Did you see the Old Ones?”

“No time, Anthemios!” Aurelius interrupted, gripping his wrist with unexpected strength. “Follow us!”

“What?”

But Anthemios did not have a chance to object, and he was painfully taken to the tent where Heraklios was rummaging through all of their stuff.

“Will anyone please tell us what you have seen? You are scaring us,” Hypathia complained as Heraklios emptied bags and sacks.

“Where is it?” the former wrestler demanded through gritted teeth.

“Where is what?”

“The potion, the potion! The lotus drink!” Heraklios shouted unnecessarily, clearly annoyed by the obvious question. “We must go?”

“I found it!” Demetria shouted, pulling out a string of small glass vials full of a dark amber liquid. “Quick, quick! Everyone, get one. We must _go_!” she said as she thrusted a vial into each of her companion’s hands.

Heraklios was already lying on the floor, gripping his gladius tightly while Aurelius stuffed his travelling bag with the notes and scrolls they had brought with them.

“Hurry up!”

Hypathia, Anthemios and the other two philosophers looked with growing fear at their friends, who were frantically getting ready to leave. Their hysteric sense of urgency, and the evident panic in which they were, were contagious, so they soon got ready to leave and lay in their cots with the potions in their hand.

“Come on, come on,” Heraklios said while Aurelius was silently praying to all the gods above and below for protection.

“Are we ready?” Demetria asked aloud, her voice still trembling.

“Yes, but will you tell us what is happening?” Hypathia pleaded.

“When we are far away from here,” Demetria replied in a deadly cold tone that admitted no reproach. And before Hypathia could press for an answer, Demetria had downed her potion, and so had Heraklios and Aurelius. Looking around once again, Hypathia uncorked the vial and let the potion put her to sleep.

Once in the Land of Dreams, Heraklios, Aurelius and Demetria insisted and begged for them to gather around for a jump forward. They shouted and pled, tears running down their cheeks, telling them that there was no time to lose. Aurelius even kneeled by Cleomena and begged her to find any angle to jump forward. Any escape towards the future would do. Cleomena could only oblige and quickly calculated an angle that let them jump various dozens of millions of years in one go.

The moment Cleomena had this very broad calculation, Heraklios and Demetria held their hands, and demanded that everyone joined them immediately. They had to jump. They had to get away. _The Hound_! The Hound was after them, and their frail bodies were still in the past with that creature hunting them! The four sleepers that had remained in the camp still could not understand what the danger was, but it was clear that they needed to act quickly, so they held hands, focused on the rift, and jumped.

***

Demetria woke up in a lush fern forest. It was warm and humid, but the air was breathable. She looked around and saw no traces of their old camp, of the barren rocks, or of the honeycombed city hidden under the shallow ocean. She let a long sigh out and began to cry. Crying in quick and short hysterical sobs. Anthemios, who had woken up by her side, tried to console her, but she flinched away and cowered. Anthemios looked around, trying to understand what was happening.

“Ok, now we have jumped, we are safe, and we have left half of our stuff behind,” he said as he stood up and looked down at Heraklios and Aurelius, who were avoiding his gaze. “Will any of you three tell the rest what exactly was all that about!”

Cleomena slowly stood up and positioned herself by Anthemios, her hands on her hips, clearly demanding an explanation. Heraklios, who was sat down, was biting his thumb, red in rage and frustration, and frenetically rocking backwards and forwards.

“It’s the Hound. The Hound!” he yelled through gritted teeth, as if that was all the explanation his friends needed. His shout was so sudden and violent that two massive dragonflies the size of a large dog flew away in fright.

“None of you are making any sense,” Anthemios insisted. “Could any of you three please take a deep breath and explain what in Hades that Hound we are running from is?”

“It’s called a hound, but it is no creature from this planet” Aurelius spoke in a quiet voice, his gaze lost in the horizon, and his lip trembling. Heraklios pulled his dagger and began to nervously stab a fallen log, while Demetria calmed herself enough to listen to the explanation. “The Hound of Tindalos is a creature that lives outside our reality. It lives in the void that separates the worlds, and is always thirsty and hungry for _life_ …”

“That still makes no sense,” Anthemios scoffed.

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Aurelius chuckled nervously. “It is just like that. It lives beyond, in the far corners of time, and it hunts life from our world! It’s a hunter. It hunts. And we are now the _prey_!”

“Why are we the prey?” Cleomena asked dryly, knowing that there was still something missing.

“Yes, Aurelius, tell us. Tell us now! Tell us about the monster that killed and gored the Old Ones! Tell us why we are the prey!” Heraklios asked in a sarcastic cackle as he stood up, his blade now pointing at Aurelius. “Speak up now and explain why you knew about this creature! What did that cursed book of yours have to say about it? Speak!”

His weapon trembled in his unsteady hand. The six of them were now encircling Aurelius, silently waiting for his answer.

“The jumps into the past are done through the void between realities,” he explained with his head low. “When we jump we enter into the void for a fraction of a second before returning to our reality. The book says that the Hounds of Tindalos will search and hunt any creature that comes into their void…”

“So that thing. That… _creature_ is hunting us?” Demetria, who had seen the monster, was the one who asked the question that they were all thinking. “The hunter that the priest warned us about…” she suddenly remembered the warning from the priest of Ulthar.

“It is. And it will not stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely made up the point in the past they travelled to, but now I know that 800 million years ago was the end of the “Boring Billion”, the point of Earth’s History when nothing really happened… or so Wikipedia claims


	7. The Nameless man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Something in your life happened” the elder explained, his eyes focusing on the stranger’s. “Or was about to happen, more likely. Something bad, and probably fatal. But it seems that the Gods of Earth decided to give you another chance.”
> 
> OR: The Nameless man appears suddenly in the Dreamlands and must find a way to find himself...

**_In the Dreamlands_ **

The outsider landed at the bottom of the spiral staircase with a thud, hurting his knees and hands. He tried to stand up, but his head was spinning, and he barely managed to sit down. He took a couple of deep breaths and then dared open his eyes to inspect where he was, which was, most definitely, not in a cave any more. The landscape around him was hilly and green. The trees had lost their leaves and the sky was grey, so he guessed he must have arrived in the wintertime, even if it was not too cold. In the distance, he could see that the thickets of trees gave way to clearings and enclosed fields: some green for pastures and others brown and ploughed, waiting for the spring crops.

Sufficiently happy with what he saw around him, he then looked down only to see that his clothes had changed. He was wearing a black pair of tough trousers tucked into brown leather boots; he was also wearing a loose white shirt with a ruffed collar and a red, slashed leather jerkin on top. He also had a water skin and a strange bronze dagger. He was sure that none of that had been originally his. The dagger, however, drew his attention. The dagger reminded him of something. He _could_ remember the dagger: it had been given to him by two mysterious strangers, but he could not remember them at all. It was all a hazy and blurry memory. But the two men seemed to have known who he was, and they gave the impression that they had been waiting for him.

None of that made any sense, but it was all he could remember.

He slowly stood up and took a look around him. There was a long spiral staircase behind him which climbed up into the sky. Had he come from there? What was up there? He thought for a second about going up the stairs and asking the two strangers about it, but it did not seem like a good idea – especially because the stairs he had come from were slowly disappearing into thin air. So his only option was to walk on and… and wait for something to happen. Hopefully that would work.

The man picked a direction at random and he set off, looking for a town or a village, or anywhere with anyone who could give him an answer to any of the questions that circled his mind, like where was he? Or why was he there? And, most importantly, who was he?

***

It took him until sundown before he found a settlement. It was a small village of no more than six or seven houses, all built in the same way: grey slate with timber roofs covered in greening turf and grass. The locals were shepherds and herdsmen and they welcomed the stranger into the village hall when he knocked on one of their doors. A woman in a grey dress and a green cloak opened carefully and, before the man could say a word, she shut the door in his face.

“Please,” the Nameless man begged. “Please, I am lost. I just… I just arrived here. I need directions.”

The woman opened the door again, looking carefully at the stranger. This time there was an old man standing by her side holding a club.

“I just got here. I don’t know where I am,” the man pleaded again. “I just need shelter for the night and then I’ll be on my way?”

The couple inside, who still had not said a word, eyed him carefully. The woman looked at her companion (father? husband?), who eventually nodded and let the Nameless man in. With calm gestures, they told him to wait by the fire, where the old man kept a silent eye on him while the woman went outside. After a while, the Nameless man heard a commotion outside, and his elderly host led him towards the door. Outside it seemed as if the entire village had gathered to meet the stranger. One of the villagers, older than the rest, and with a distinctive dry and dusty wreath around his forehead spoke to him.

“Welcome to our village,” the man said. Nobody around him seemed to share the feeling. “Please, come to our mead hall. We will share our food and our roof with you tonight.”

Without adding anything else, the elder led the villagers to one of the buildings, and the Nameless man could only follow the crowd.

“So, tell us, outlander,” the elder said after they had built a fire in the shared hall and given him a crusty loaf of bread. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

The outsider was about to put a piece of bread in his mouth when the question was asked. He slowly took the bread away and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Around him he could only see the blank gazes of the villagers, who were drinking sweet mead and munching crusty bread in dead silence.

“I can’t really tell,” he admitted, nervously scratching his head and staring into the fire. His mouth was dry and he took a long gulp of mead. The warmth he felt inside did not last long enough.

“Well, outlander,” the elder said with an intriguing grin, “we were going to trade our hospitality for the stories of your travels, but it seems you have little to pay with.”

“I am sorry, but I can’t really remember,” the outsider said with frustration, fearing that he would be kicked out in the cold. “I just remember coming down the flight of steps. I remember two men offering me new clothes and some food. They pointed at the pillars and the stairs and I… well… I just walked through. They also gave me this,” with a careful movement, the outlander pulled out the bronze dagger.

The speechless villagers looked at each other. The reigning silence, even with the crackling of the logs in the fire, was all extremely eerie.

“What?” the stranger asked, not fully understanding the situation. Something inside him told him that they _knew_ , and that he was not the first person to appear in their village in his situation.

“You are not only an outlander, Nameless one,” the elder of the village spoke. “You are an _outsider_. You come from beyond.”

The Nameless man felt an uneasy feeling setting in his stomach. He suddenly was not hungry any more, and the sweetness of the mead was now sickeningly sticky in his mouth.

“Beyond what?”

“That dagger,” the elder continued, ignoring his question and pointing at the gleaming weapon that the man had cautiously put back into the sheath that hung from his belt, “is a present from the Guardians of the Gate. The two priests have given you a second opportunity.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” the outsider leant forward, his hand unconsciously gripping the dagger. Nothing that the elder said made any sense, and if it did, then the implications of what he was saying were too terrifying to consider.

“Something in your life happened” the elder explained, his eyes focusing on the stranger’s. “Or was about to happen, more likely. Something bad, and probably fatal. But it seems that the Gods of Earth might have different plans for you, so Lord Hypnos through his priests decided to give you another chance.”

The stranger felt his head spin and a cold sweat forming on his forehead. These revelations made no sense to him. Why would any god have anything planned for him? Who was he, that he deserved a second chance of the gods? If only he could _remember_ … But there was nothing! There was a high-pitched tinny noise and then the blackness beyond the pillars. Or was there? Was there also a loud blast and a scorching heat shock?

The outsider swallowed, words failing him. “But that can’t be, you see? I am… I… well, I mean, I was just… I…”

“It does not matter,” the elder said with an unsettling smile, interrupting the stranger’s incoherent blurting. “All of this is happening for a reason. You have to live this life and wait for your revelation.”

“Wait?” the stranger said. “Wait for what? What purpose? I don’t understand anything! I just woke up with no recollection of my past and now you tell me I’ve got some unfulfilled destiny?”

Nothing made sense: the mead hall, the silent villagers, the fire, the wind, the never-ending stairs, the pillars into darkness… The outsider felt his hands tremble. He began to pant, the smoke in the mead hall choking him. There was not enough _air_ …

“It can be a lot to take in,” the elder continued, his tone flat. “But—“

“No, no. No! No ‘but’s’!” the Nameless man clenched his fists to steady himself. “I don’t belong here! I don’t know where I do, but… I can’t!”

He stood up, feeling suddenly dizzy. The village hall was spinning, the faces of the silent villagers turned into a blur, making him feel sick in his stomach. He held tight to the sheathed dagger, the only thing that seemed real at that moment.

“I- I- I- I am sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come… I need to go…”

“Where are you going?” one of the women asked, the first person other than the elder to speak. Her flat and unamused tone did nothing to improve the outsider’s nerves.

“Let him go,” the elder said in a low voice.

“I… no. I can’t. This is not _me_! I can’t- I’m not a pawn of some pre-written destiny! I’m sorry,” the stranger kept apologising as he backed towards the door of the hall, his eyes wet and his pulse accelerated. “I know I shouldn’t, but… No.”

“Go and find yourself,” the elder told him in a distant tone. “Find yourself and your destiny will find you.”

The stranger backed all the way to the door until he walked into it, the hit seemingly shaking him from his panic.

“I- I- I thank you for your hospitality but I… no, I can’t. That’s not me. That’s not me…”

He opened the door and walked out, vomiting the meagre contents of his stomach over a low fence before heading away into the wilderness in the dark.

***

A year passed. A year since the Nameless man had appeared at the bottom of the spiral staircase. A year since he had started his new life, and a year since he had found out that there was _something_ that he was meant to be doing. _Something_ that some bizarre and obscure deity had decided that he needed to do, and that his entire life could be put on hold because of that.

The Nameless man was forced to admit by the weight of the evidence that surrounded him that he had been transported to a different life. _That_ , however, did not mean that he had to sit down and accept it quietly. The problem was that it was difficult to fight fate when one did not know who one was. The Nameless man had to create a new persona, and he chose a new name with which to start his new life. He chose Cantior.

In that year he had wandered around, Cantior had not found any place he would like to settle in. This was partly because the world he was exploring was vast, and exciting, and each new place offered new opportunities, and sights, and excitement. But it was mostly because settling down seemed like the easy option; like giving up. It implied waiting for events to develop and the acceptance of the course that some power had decided for him. Or so he thought. He kept his thoughts to himself, which is why Cantior had decided long ago to keep on moving and travelling. In this way, he reasoned, he might avoid his pre-determined fate and carve his own destiny. In this way, he would exercise his free will and underline his agency. In this way, he would flip off the gods and teach them a lesson.

Cantior’s constant cursing at the gods made him an unwelcome company wherever he went, but he did not care much, though.

Cantior was currently walking down one of the busy streets of Dylath-Leen, the busy harbour city by the Southern Ocean, built in black basalt and crowned by many needle-like pointed towers. The city was full of people, strong smells, and dark corners where business could be carried more privately. Cantior could think of many ways to describe Dylath-Leen, mostly using words like ‘den’, ‘pirates’, ‘rowdy’, ‘violent’, ‘drunk’, and ‘dangerous’, but also ‘opportunity’, ‘rich’, ‘decadent’, and ‘wealthy’. After a year of roving across that new and weird country, he felt that Dylath-Leen offered all the things he needed.

As he walked down the streets he had to avoid spice merchants, exotic fruit sellers, and barely-clothed women, all of which were aggressively selling their wares to him. It was so busy that he nearly bumped into a group of three priests who scolded him for blocking their way. Cantior had to control his rage lest he lashed out. He managed to glare at them and spit on their way as he walked away, hearing the priests cursing behind him. Walking into a tavern to wait for the priests to go and the crowds to disperse seemed like a sensible choice.

The tavern, however, was only slightly less busy than the outside, and securing a stool at the far corner of the bar had been close to a miracle. From there at least he could have a good look at the other customers. There was a combination of foreign merchants and local workmen, forming small circles and minding their own business. And even if there were other people on their own, somehow Cantior felt he was the centre of attention. People turned to check who he was, and mumbled discreetly amongst them as they pointed subtly with their chins. He briskly demanded a jug of beer from the barman and tried to ignore the world around him.

In his self-centre tavern bubble Cantior could not escape his own thoughts. What had he done to deserve this? Forget about that supposed second chance. These so-called gods thought they could decide what was best for him? If he had been meant to die then, so be it! But removing his memories, denying his identity _from him_ —that was cruel and petty. Everything might make more sense if he knew who he was or why he was there. And he had been given no other option but to sit and wait? Cantior shook his head with a sardonic smile and drunk his beer in greedy gulps. He knocked on the bar and ordered another drink.

“I bet you have an interesting story to tell, outsider,” a man said as he suddenly sat by Cantior’s side. He was wearing a loose black silk tunic which badly concealed the leather armour underneath. From his sash hung a broadsword, and across his temples and his brow, the man had a painted band of ochre. Cantior could easily tell he was one of the sailors of the feared Black Galleys.

“That is none of your business,” he snapped as he brusquely grabbed the beer from the landlord’s hand and took a long drink. “Now be on your merry way and leave me alone.”

“I was just trying to be friendly,” the sailor said with a broad and insincere smile. “I am genuinely interested in outlanders marked by destiny.”

Cantior slowly turned to look into the sailor’s eyes, and he saw that he was referring to his bronze dagger. He let out a frustrated sigh before speaking again.

“I said, that is _none_ of your business.”

“Stories are precious merchandise. We are in Dylath-Leen, the largest merchant harbour this side of the Cerenarian sea,” the sailor tapped a bulging purse by his side. “And, besides, depending on your story I may be able to help you in the search for your destiny.”

Cantior slammed his tankard against the bar, and the entire tavern went silent. It seemed that everyone had been paying attention to their verbal exchange. He slowly stood up from the stool he was sitting on, making sure that the seat stood in between them.

“Listen, self-proclaimed instrument of the gods—“ he spat at the mention of the gods, which was taken by several of the tavern goers as their cue to leave.

“Take your brawl outside,” the landlord called, interrupting Cantior, but the outsider simply pulled his bronze dagger from its sheath and rammed it on the counter, causing a collecting gasp of breath. The barman did not say anything else.

“As I was saying,” Cantior ignored the landlord as he addressed the sailor, who was also standing up, “it is none of your business. My story is not for sale. Not for all your cursed rubies. So you can shove _them_ and your fucking _destiny_ up your—“

“No need for that,” the sailor interrupted through a smile of gritted teeth and an icy glare. “I think that is all I needed to know really. There is someone who will be happy to see you across the sea, if you accept our invitation to one of our galleys.”

Cantior knew what was going to happen next, and he did not care. He was actually looking forward to doing it. Venting his frustration by pummelling a sailor’s face had been very liberating in the past (and he had already been thrown out of various taverns in Dylath-Leen).

In a swift movement, Cantior pushed the stool with his foot into the sailor, who was forced to step back and nearly tripped over. That was all the advantage Cantior needed. He felt the carved stone tankard of beer in his hand and he threw it into the sailor’s face, who had no time to dodge it. The tankard shattered against the sailor’s skull, and he fell to the ground.

But the sailor was not beaten, and he brought his hand to the hilt of his sword. Cantior had anticipated this, so he quickly grabbed the stool and, with a long swing, he smashed it into the sailor’s shoulder. The loud cracking noise that followed came mostly from the breaking stool. Mostly.

Bloodied and on the floor, the sailor squealed in pain, but was still not beaten. Cantior stepped hardly with his hobnailed boot on the sailor’s sword hand twice, for good measure, and he bent down to pull the sword out of his opponent’s sheath.

“I told you to mind your _fucking_ business,” he yelled as he held the sword to the sailor’s throat, his voice trembling with rage.

Cantior’s vision tunnelled through a red mist. He could only see the sailor in front of him, and nothing else around them. He could only hear his heavy breathing and his pulse thumping fast in his ears. How dared he have a say on his destiny? How dared he ask about his story? He didn’t have a story! He didn’t have a past and damn right he did not give a toss about his fucking predestined future.

And still… he _knew_ he was not one to drive a sword through a fallen man’s throat. That had not been him. And he would not be that person. Taking a deep breath to steady his pulse, and gripping tightly on the hilt of the sword, Cantior managed to calm himself down enough to move the sword away from the sailor’s neck. The sailor let out a sigh, visibly relieved, but he did not see Cantior’s heavy boot kicking him in the head, knocking him out.

Cantior threw the sword away, making a loud rattling sound that echoed across the bar. He turned around for an instant to retrieve his bronze dagger, and he walked towards the door.

“I haven’t got a story. And I haven’t got a destiny,” he muttered when he opened the door, trying to justify what he had done to himself and to the people in the tavern.

As he walked out, Cantior could feel warm tears running down his cheeks as he clenched his fists and set his jaw. That was not him. That had never been him. But _who_ was he?!

***

Another year passed, and Cantior found himself travelling through the wilderness towards Hyperborean Olathoë, the gleaming city of white marble on the plateau of Sarkis.

Cantior had learnt to live with his anger (anger at the gods, anger at his imposed destiny, anger at himself and his lost past life), but he still could not accept his odds. Surely there was a way out? There must be a loophole or something he could do to get himself out of his predicament. He just needed to know what this escape was and then he would find out who he was. Apparently, the library of Olathoë had many ancient tomes that might be useful – or so Cantior had been told.

A few weeks before he had heard about a caravan that was transporting fine cloths and dyes from Inganok to Olathoë, so he immediately offered his services as a mercenary. After all, he was an excellent swordsman and an even better shot. This was not the first time he had been employed to protect fat and greedy merchants: the kind of merchants he had learnt to dislike in his days in Dylath-Leen, but the kind of merchants who paid well. So he was now leading the caravan, crossing the forest of Kaar, climbing up the dividing ranges, and then on to the land of Lomar.

The trip was uneventful on the whole, but the company was tedious, so Cantior spent most of his days riding his horse ahead of the caravan, trying to avoid the incessant yapping of his employer. When they finally made it to the caravanserai outside Olathoë, Cantior demanded his silver, which the merchant gave only reluctantly. With the coin in his bag, and without any further goodbye, Cantior marched into the city.

The main city gate opened into an oval piazza, with a square fountain at its centre where camels, donkeys and other beasts of burden rested while their cargo was unloaded. The piazza gave way to a main street, paved with smooth slabs of polished red granite, which contrasted sharply with the white columns that sustained the porticoes flanking the avenue. Elaborate water fountains with silver spouts were placed at every intersection, and left and right from this main avenue, Cantior could see street after street leading to residential areas, secondary markets, bathhouses, and temple precincts. Four large columns of green soapstone stood in a circular piazza that marked the intersection of the two main avenues. At that impressive crossroads, Cantior took a left towards the hill where the citadel had been built many centuries ago.

The library of Olathoë was placed up in the acropolis, for the Hyperboreans believed that their compiled knowledge was the one thing that their society should protect above all things. When Cantior walked into the vaulted entrance hall, a dutiful attendant took his travelling cloak and his rapier. He also tried to take his bronze dagger, but Cantior would not part with it. A librarian quickly stepped forward and shooed the assistant away, addressing the outsider directly.

“Welcome to the library of Olathoë,” the man said. He had short brown hair and the characteristic clean-shaved face of the Hyperboreans. It was a sharp contrast with Cantior’s rugged scruff.

“Uh, yeah, welcome… I mean, hello. Thank you,” Cantior said uneasily. “I came… I mean, I was hoping… I’m looking for some information. I, er… I wondered if you could help me find it?”

“Yes, of course,” the librarian said helpfully. “Come over to the reference desk.”

The librarian led Cantior to a corner of the hall, where there was a large bronze disk fixed to a heavy oak table, behind which there were two librarians busy classifying some papers. The librarian explained what the various sections of the library were, citing authors and disciplines in quick succession, none of which made any sense to Cantior.

“Wait, please,” he interrupted, and the librarian, who was pointing at the various markings of the disk, turned around. “I just… I need to know about the nature of the world. I need to know about the gods and about fate. You see, I do not belong here,” Cantior briefly showed his dagger as he made this clarification. “I _need_ to find my own way out…”

The librarian took a second to look more carefully at the man in front of him. He had been on a long trip, that much was clear, and it was clear that he was an outsider, because he had the dagger of the Guardians.

“The library of Olathoë is famous across the lands,” Cantior insisted with a smile. “All the tomes, arcane and mundane, are collected here. Everybody knows it! I just need to be pointed in the right direction.”

The librarian’s expression changed when he saw the desperation and the need behind Cantior’s eyes. In front of him stood a man in denial, a man who was trying to escape the world. A man asking the right questions not knowing that there were no satisfactory answers.

“The volumes in this library will help you understand our world,” the librarian said after a meditating pause, “and will help you understand how this world and yours are connected. And you might be able to study for long years and learn the many secrets of the gods, but you will never find out their motivations, nor will you be able to find a way to bend the path that Fate has for you while you’re here.”

“What do you mean?” Cantior asked. “If the books will give me the information they will tell me how to get out! They’ll tell me how to find who I am!”

“You will only learn that there is nothing you can do.”

“What are you? A librarian or a priest?” Cantior snapped, refusing to believe the words of the librarian.

“It is difficult to sympathise with the gods once you’ve read through most of the volumes in this library,” the librarian admitted, but that did not put Cantior at ease.

“So you understand me!” Cantior said with renewed hope.

“And it is _because_ I understand you that I’m giving you this advice,” the librarian tried to reason with a soft smile. “I know what answers you’re looking for, and I can tell you in advance that you will not find them.”

“No. No! That cannot be!”

“You are welcome to read and learn, if that will put your mind at ease. But that will only work if you are ready to understand the _how_ without caring about the _why_. As far as you are ready to accept that—“

“You are no better than the priests,” Cantior spat and turned around, leaving the library quickly and brusquely grabbing his cloak and sword from a slightly terrified assistant.

The librarian sighed from the entrance as he looked at the outsider run away from his advice and the inevitable truth.

Cantior descended the steps of the citadel, heading towards the darker corners of the less-reputable districts, hoping to find enough distractions for the evening. The librarian had been helpful, and he had offered him to help him in his reading. But he had told him that his quest was in vain and that no matter how much he learnt, he could not avoid his fate. Cantior gritted his teeth as he leant against a column. He felt tears coming to his eyes and his breathing accelerating. He slid his back down the column until he was sitting down, big sobs forming in his throat. He punched the floor by his side as he cried.

He was trapped. Trapped without escape in this cursed land with its cursed gods. His past life had been snatched away from him, and the only thing he could do was wait, living a life that was not his own until something happened.

But then, it occurred to him that there was _another_ option. There was one other outsider he knew in the Dreamlands. He had heard of the achievements of king Kuranes, who ruled from unknown Kadath, the city he had himself created and, because of this, he was believed by the inhabitants to be a god. Kuranes would know what he could do. Kuranes could give him the vital information he needed: the key for him to regain his old life.

But that could wait till the morning. That night Cantior would drink his misery and his bad luck away.

***

Cantior’s search had been in vain. He had spent an entire year searching through libraries, consulting books and asking learnt men. They had all given him the same reply – that it was in the hands of the gods, that he was a token in their game. That there was no loophole. It had been beyond frustrating.

Cantior had been (and still was), perhaps, most annoyed with Kuranes’ answer. He had travelled all the way to Unknown Kadath and had had a meeting with Kuranes, who had been an impoverished landowner from England in the woken world, who then had given up his previous life to live in the Dreamlands, where he had created Kadath. Kuranes told Cantior about another outsider, one Harley Warren, who had also come from the awoken world never to return. Kuranes explained Cantior that at the moment he accepted the invitation of the Guardians he had abandoned the woken world and descended to the Dreamlands and that his only way out (if he had a way out) would be dictated to him eventually. Fate and destiny. _Again_. Cantior had been extremely grateful for the explanation, but completely deflated about his future perspectives.

All the answers of all the people he had asked boiled down to there being no hope for escape. Nothing to do other than acknowledging that it did not matter what he tried to do, it was all beyond his control. That even if he found a spiral staircase leading to the woken world, he would not be able to cross the barrier. Everything was pointless. He had lost his past life, and he did not care about the future one. The only positive outcome Cantior could think of was that he could drink himself away – what did it matter, after all? Someone with destiny written all over would eventually come to find him and drag him back to his old life anyways.

That is how Cantior ended up in Amery’s tavern spending all his coin in mead and wine and beer. At least that is what he did the days he had enough will power to leave his room. Sometimes he just woke up and, wrapped in his quilt, would just sit by the fireplace, his head resting on the warm bricks as he repeatedly poked the burning logs. Sometimes he did not even get out of bed.

On a couple of those occasions when he had been terribly hungover and incapable of siting up in his bed, he had looked at the dagger – that _cursed_ bronze dagger that had started all—gleaming on his bedside table and thinking that there might be, actually, a way out. But he never brought himself to do it. Something inside him, deep in his mind, buried by layers of oblivion, sent a shiver down his spine. That inner voice told Cantior that whatever he had become, his past self would never have done that. That he was not one for the easy way out. And yet, knowing who he was not did not fully explain who he was. Two flagons of mead usually numbed him enough to stop thinking and asking questions.

One afternoon, Cantior was sitting on the stone bench outside the tavern, with a half-empty wineskin in one hand and his rapier in the other. He was squinting in the bright sun, and every time he tried to drink, more wine ended on his shirt than in his mouth. Then a figure stood in front of him, blocking the sun with their shadow.

“You’rrrr blocking the sun,” Cantior slurred his words. “Move away.”

“Get up,” the figure barked in a slightly nasal voice.

Cantior tried to open his eyes, but the bright sun shone just around the person’s head and he could not really see what they looked like.

“Nah, I won’t.”

“You should give up on that, _believe_ me,” the voice said again.

As the voice spoke, however, they used their walking staff to prod the wineskin, but Cantior was skilful enough to parry and deflect the stick with his rapier.

“You dunnn get to touch dat,” he said as he tried and failed to drink some more.

“We’ll see about that,” the person with the nasal voice spoke again before emptying a bucket of cold water on him. Cantior, suddenly very soaked and very awake, stumbled to stand up, but then he felt his feet being hit by the stranger’s staff and he fell on his back on the dusty cobbles.

“You sunnuva—“ Another bucket of water was emptied over him. “Okay, okay, stop! I’m wet enough,” Cantior coughed and spluttered water as he sat up.

“Listen to me,” the person said as they kneeled down by Cantior’s side. Now he could see that he was talking to a middle-aged man with short brown hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a scarlet cloak across his shoulders, and underneath he had a simple black jerkin and travelling trousers. He was unarmed, but Cantior caught a short glimpse of a golden medallion hanging from his neck. “And trust me, because I know what I’m talking about. You cannot waste your days drinking.”

“What the fuck do you care?” Cantior snapped. “Who do you think you are, coming here and ruining my afternoon?”

“Yeah, right, because spending your day covered in cheap wine and getting sunburned,” the man prodded Cantior’s reddened forehead for emphasis, making him flinch, “is the perfect afternoon plan!”

“Ouch! What do you want?” Cantior asked, quickly realising that this was more than someone trying to make fun of the local drunkard.

“I don’t want anything,” the man said. He looked vaguely familiar.

“Do I know you?”

The man stopped when Cantior asked the question. He was almost biting his tongue, clearly not wanting to answer. That was all Cantior needed. He _knew_ Cantior, but Cantior could not remember him, and the man clearly did not want to be remembered.

“Listen here, because this is the only time I will say this. It’s bad enough that I’m talking to you,” the man looked suddenly and nervously around, as if fearing someone might be spying on their conversation. “You need to stop this. Believe _me_ I’m the last person that should be giving this advice, but you can’t drink your problems away. You have been given a second chance—“

“You don’t get to talk to me about second chances,” Cantior felt his blood boil in anger. “You haven’t got any right to lecture me about the gods, and their plans, and their _fucking_ second chances.”

“Yeah, well, gods… don’t get me started,” the man in the scarlet cloak rolled his eyes – not the reaction Cantior had expected. “Anyways, if you continue like this you will end up like your father—don’t ask, just listen.”

Cantior looked in confusion at the strange man that had appeared out of nowhere who apparently had known both him and his father.

“Okay, between you and me, you already know that you don’t belong here and that there is something else waiting for you. You are going to need your own time to adjust and _Christ_ you’ve had enough time to do so… Anyways, you don’t have to understand, you don’t have to believe… you just have to know and accept the certainty that—“

“Who are you?” Cantior interrupted.

“That’s not the point,” the man dismissed the question. He then quickly looked over his shoulder and grabbed his medallion with one hand. Cantior could not see anything behind him, but the mysterious man clearly was not happy. “Get your shit together. The way you start your life out of this stink-hole still depends entirely on _you_. And I would not want to see you turn into—crap. Gotta go.”

“What?” Cantior was still confused.

“Just…. just remember what I told you, okay? Tell your sober self to remember.”

“But how do you know?” but the man was already walking away in long strides before Cantior could get an answer. “Wait!” he cried as he tried to stand up. “Who am I?”

He turned the corner around the tavern, but the man was gone. There was only the narrow lane that turned into a small country road. Cantior, still dripping wet, looked at the empty wineskin still in his hand and threw it to the side. He slowly and carefully put his sword back in its sheath. With unsteady steps he headed back into the tavern, but he did not order anything when he sat down. He just needed to think, and he needed a clear head. He could have a drink when he had an answer.

***

The words of the stranger who came out of the blue echoed in Cantior’s head for almost a week, a week during which he spent his waking hours silently walking from the tavern to the hill by the brook and back. He had an inkling about who he _might_ have been: someone with a father who was not a model to follow, someone who would not take the easy way out, someone who had been given a second chance. True, he could not understand why he had been given a chance, but it was clear that _that_ was beyond his control and his understanding. He simply had to accept it and bear the load as well as he could. Simply because he did not know exactly who he had been did not mean he had to turn into an unrecognisable version of that man.

He settled his tab with Amery, and apologised for the weeks of drunken disorder. He said goodbye and, without any further explanation, Cantior left. He did not know exactly why he had left, but finally acknowledging that he had an unescapable destiny had given him a serene internal calm he had not felt in ages. He had been given a chance, whether he liked it or not, and it was up to him to rise to the occasion and make it count.

His feelings towards his past life changed. He did not resent the gods for stripping him from his memories, and finding out his original self ceased to be his main objective. He had to live in the present, knowing that sense would eventually come and that there was nothing he could do to either stop it or prompt it.

So Cantior travelled across the Dreamlands. He travelled to Celephaïs on the Naraxa River. He sailed across the sea to Lhosk and Ulthar. He travelled beyond the hills and up to Mount Lerion, to the village he encountered on his first day in the Dreamlands.

He arrived one morning, when the inhabitants were busy tending to their animals or working in their small vegetable gardens. The elder who had revealed to him why he was there was sitting on a stone bench basking in the sun. Cantior saw him and walked directly towards him, giving gentle waves and small smiles to the inhabitants of the village, who stood still as he walked through their homes.

“You are back, outsider,” the elder said in a dry tone.

“I am,” Cantior admitted.

The elder leant forward slightly, looking carefully at the outsider standing in front of him. It was definitely the same man, but he had changed. His face told a different story, far removed from the near-panic state of shock and disbelief he had been in the first time he had visited the village.

“If you are seeking hospitality, you’ll have to pay the price,” the elder warned solemnly.

Cantior suppressed a dry chuckle. “I know. And this time, I can pay.”

The elder visibly relaxed and a smile formed on his face. With great effort he stood up and, holding on to his walking stick, led Cantior to their mead hall, soon followed by the gathered crowd of villagers.

***

Cantior felt fulfilled after his visit to the village. He did not know why, but a heavy sensation that he had apparently been dragging for the last years disappeared when he returned to that mead hall and told his story, the story that explained who he was and why he was there. The elder and the villagers seemed satisfied with how far he had come in his trip, and wished him the best of lucks for the road ahead of him. Cantior knew they did not refer to the actual path he was currently treading.

As he slowly made his way down the hills towards Ulthar he felt lighter. He felt at peace with himself, content with what he had achieved, a sensation further validated by the warm farewell the elder and the villagers had given him. Despite this, Cantior had to live with the bittersweet resignation of accepting that he could only wait for things to develop. He still had not forgiven the gods about _that_ , but he was willing to move on quietly.

In these spirits, Cantior walked into the tavern of Ulthar where merchants from all across the Dreamlands waited patiently and rested from their travels. Cantior found himself a stool at the far end of the bar, not knowing that _that_ tavern was where the rest of his journey was about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the plot is advancing slowly, but please bear with me! Next chapter the various story lines will snap together!
> 
> Also, anyone wants to guess who the nameless man (whom we encountered at the very end of "Beacons and Groves") may be?
> 
> All comment always welcome!


	8. Beyond the Wall of Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you seriously thinking this is still all in your dream?” Stiles deadpanned.  
> “Why wouldn’t it be? I fell asleep and woke up in a dream with Scott,” Isaac explained as he chewed. “You’re the one part of my imagination that keeps coming to nag at me in my dreams,” he pointed with the spoon, getting angrier by the second. He was having enough of Stiles and his theories.
> 
> OR: Isaac's dreams get increasingly dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy to say that that the three main storylines *finally* overlap in this chapter!

When Isaac woke up, he felt a shiver going down his spine. Scott must have sensed it because even if he was still asleep, he rolled over and threw an arm over Isaac, bringing him closer. Isaac kissed him quietly on the head as he went through the dream again. _Man, that exam will be the end of my sanity_.

The rest of the morning was uneventful. Isaac and Scott had breakfast together with Chris and Melissa (it was one of those odd days when they all had a chance to have a civilised morning as a family), but Scott and Chris soon went off to work. Isaac stayed with Melissa, helping her out clearing out the kitchen and watching TV on the couch while drinking lemonade until she had to get ready for her afternoon shift. She gave him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, he gave her the sandwich he had prepared for her, and she left in a hurry. Isaac was left alone in the McCall house.

He slowly made his way up to the bedroom he shared with Scott and turned on the Xbox, but he just sat there on the floor, with his back resting against the bed, staring blankly at the console.

All through the morning he’d had a tingly sensation on the side of his thigh, where his pocket usually was – also where the bronze keys in the iron ring had appeared two nights in a row. What could those keys possibly mean? What had Stiles meant when he said he knew what was going on? And how did he know if it all had been his dream or someone else’s? Nothing made sense.

On top of that, Stiles had been acting weird. Weirder than usual, that is. Liam had noticed, and Isaac did too the moment the other beta pointed it out. Now that Isaac thought about it, Liam had _also_ been acting on edge. Liam, Stiles, Isaac. It seemed that all three of them were going through something. But perhaps Isaac was only extrapolating his own fears. After all, as he had told Liam, Stiles _had been kidnapped_ by an Outer flipping God, so it was normal that he was extra fidgety on the day of the anniversary. Moreover, Liam and Stiles kept appearing in _his own_ dreams (weird, unusual and abnormal dreams, but dreams after all), so maybe Isaac was just projecting his own subconscious insecurities on his friends.

_Why doesn’t anything make sense?_

Isaac closed his eyes, and tried to consult his inner wolf, who always seemed to know what Isaac needed to hear. _Inner Wolf_ , Isaac called. Six years as a werewolf and he still felt odd talking to a part of himself separately. He was sure that in any other case that could count as some sort of split-personality neurosis. This thought disappeared the instant Isaac felt the reassuring and caring nuzzling of his inner wolf inside him.

Whenever he had spoken to anyone in the pack about it, he had never found the correct words to describe the incredible feeling of a wolf-shaped strength rubbing his face gently against his soul. But Ethan, who knew more about these things than the rest of them (barring Derek), always smiled warmly when Isaac spoke about inner wolves, telling him that he always found the best words to describe it anyways.

In any case, Inner Wolf ( _should I name him? We’ve known each other for a while… What kind of name do wolves have?_ ) reassured Isaac that everything was going well, that he had nothing to worry about, although the way he transmitted it made Isaac wonder if Inner Wolf was omitting something on the lines of ‘everything is going well _so far_ ’.

Isaac sighed. He turned off the TV and the console. _Something_ was brewing, but it was too early still, and there was nothing he could do about it. He sighed again as he jumped back in bed, taking a deep breath from Scott’s pillow, that smelled so soothingly of him. The beta decided to gently nudge his boyfriend through their pack bond, and Scott immediately tugged back, sending him waves of comfort and calm, which is all that Isaac needed.

With a fresh smile on his face, he picked up the book he was currently reading, his swimming trunks, and a towel, and decided to invite himself to Jackson’s pool.

***

“I saw three ships come sailing in, you know?” Isaac asked as he looked at Scott.

“Was it on Christmas day in the morning?” Scott answered. He brought his head up from the book he was reading with a big lopsided smile.

“How did _you_ know?” Isaac was very surprised.

“Dunno,” Scott shrugged smugly. “Just a hunch, I guess. I bet all the bells on Earth were ringing too.”

It was all a dream, Isaac knew. He had just fallen asleep. He remembered brushing his teeth. He remembered also how he had kissed Scott’s neck, bit his ear lobe and grinded himself against the alpha. He might have also slid his hand under his boyfriend’s pants. Scott had giggled and begged him to be silent, but he had not asked him to stop. Isaac also remembered kissing Scott good night a long while after that.

It was definitely a dream. Why else would he be making casual conversation about Christmas carols in _July_?

Both werewolves were sitting in a booth in what seemed to be a diner. They were wearing matching leather jackets and were sharing a plate of food. _What’s with my dreams about Scott and eating?_ Some music was playing in the background. They were, it seemed, all alone in the restaurant. It was snowy and foggy outside.

“Do you want more syrup?” Scott asked politely.

“Oh, yes, please,” Isaac agreed with a smile. Because even in a dream he had to live a little.

Scott winked and stood up, walking towards the counter and then into the kitchen.

Isaac was too busy admiring his boyfriend’s backside (which even in his dreams he had to) when he was startled by someone knocking on the window.

“Christ alive, Stiles! You scared me there!” Isaac said, clutching his chest and turning around to look out.

Stiles was outside in the snow, wearing a pineapple-and-coconut print Hawaiian shirt. He did not seem to be cold, but he signalled very emphatically for Isaac to come out to talk to him.

“I _can’t_. I’m waiting for my syrup.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and knocked on the window again. Isaac glared at him with his iridescent yellow werewolf eyes. He felt a growl forming in his throat, but he could hear it coming from outside the restaurant, so loud that the windows rattled. Scott came out of the kitchen in his pyjamas with a pile of books.

“What was that?” he wondered casually.

“Don’t worry. Let’s finish the fourth chapter.”

When Scott sat down, they were in the library where Isaac had been preparing his final exam. A tall pile of books and photocopies was covering the window where Stiles had been.

“It sucks that you have to sit your exam again,” Scott sighed as he opened a carbonate geology handbook.

“I know- _what_?” Isaac snapped a bit too loudly. A cold sweat began to form on his forehead.

“Babe, don’t worry. I have to sit it too. We’ll do this together,” Scott smiled as he squeezed Isaac’s knee gently and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Despite that, Isaac felt his heartrate accelerate. _Not that fucking exam again_. He stood up and backed away from the desk full of books.

“Babe, where are you going?” Scott asked, his face full of worry.

“I- I- I don’t know,” Isaac swallowed hard. He could not be studying for that exam _again_.

“But, Isaac, I can’t do it on my own… not _without_ you,” Scott begged and looked at Isaac with his saddest puppy-dog eyes, now far in the distance.

Isaac was now a good mile and a half away from that desk and his frigging sedimentology notes, and yet he could see his boyfriend’s face clearly. His heart nearly broke, but his panic was stronger, and pushed him further and further away. He kept backing away until he hit a door, which opened wide and Isaac fell through.

“Hello, handsome,” a voice called from above.

Isaac turned around and saw Liam in a Hawaiian print shirt. He was also wearing a straw hat.

“Don’t call me that,” Isaac said sourly as he sat up and cleaned the snow off his own Hawaiian print shirt.

“Why?” Liam asked, taken aback.

“Dunno… It’s _weird_ coming from you.”

“You look rough. I thought you needed it,” Liam said sincerely. He kneeled down and gave Isaac a hand so he could stand up. “I like your shirt,” he added with a smile

“We’re wearing the same shirt,” Isaac deadpanned. “ _Again_.”

“You’re being nasty today, you know that?” Liam told Isaac in an unequivocal ‘I’m getting fed up’ tone. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

Isaac bobbed his head and sighed. “I know, I know… I’m sorry, Liam.”

Liam just stuck his tongue out, accepting the apology. Isaac ruffled the other beta’s hair and he felt their wolves nuzzling each other for comfort. This time, however, it was not as if their inner wolves shifted to the other person (which was the usual feeling when they were awake)—this time it felt as if _they_ were inside their inner (outer?) wolves; as if the wolves were larger than mountains, and they were simple specks of brightness inside their spirit wolves. Each nuzzle they shared sent earth-shattering pulsating waves of instant wellness. Their eyes shone yellow immediately.

“That was cute of you two,” Stiles said as he appeared from behind a bush.

“What were you doing there?”

“Looking for you! I’ve been looking for you in this frigging snowy wasteland for ages!” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Do you know how easy it is to get lost when all the trees are the same and they are covered in snow, and you can’t even retrace your footsteps because there are no footsteps behind you?”

Isaac and Liam looked at each other with confused faces, and they silently agreed that it was better to accept whatever their friend had said than asking for any sort of further explanation.

“Well, now you found us,” Liam replied. “What next?”

“Come over,” Stiles ordered as he turned around and led them down a path. The only path that existed in that snow-covered evergreen forest. “I’ve had enough of this snow. I want to go to somewhere sunny and warm.”

“I haven’t been to the beach in _ages_ ,” Isaac added chirpily, as he followed Stiles with a wide smile. “Not since I was in France.”

“Maybe we should do a pack excursion to the seaside,” Liam suggested. “I’m sure Jackson has a massive coastal villa somewhere.”

“I’m not a big fan of the beach myself,” Stiles said from up ahead. “It’s full of sand, and sun, and jellyfish, and things that swim and touch your foot but you _never_ see them so you yelp and jump… I’d rather we all stayed in Beacon Hills.”

“You’re such a _sour_ wolf,” Liam complained, and Isaac laughed aloud.

Stiles said nothing, and he simply pointed ahead. The snowy forest around them and grey skies above came to an end up ahead. There was some burning vertical hole at the end of the road, and inside that hole ( _beyond_ that hole?) there was a completely different landscape.

“Why is that here? We don’t have a ring of fire in Beacon Hills,” Isaac asked, scratching his head as he stopped a few feet away from it.

“I ordered one. I think it looks nice, don’t you think?” Stiles replied, still not looking back.

“I don’t know,” Liam doubted as they reached it. “It seems flimsy. Does your dad know that you bought one?”

But Stiles was already inside the burning disc, and they could see him walking down the sunny road beyond.

“I don’t like this, Isaac,” Liam said frowning.

“Me neither. I wish Scott were here…”

Liam did not know how to describe his bad feeling in words, but Isaac could sense it regardless through their shared pack bond. It was an apprehension towards that ring of fire, a gut feeling. They could not give a reasoned explanation why, but they knew that _it_ did not belong _there_. Somehow they knew deep inside that it was out of place (even for a dream), even if they could not explain _why_.

The two betas stood there, not daring to go any further, when suddenly they heard a panicked scream.

“Stiles!” they shouted in unison before jumping through the hole into the sunny fields ahead.

“Wait for me!” they heard a voice calling behind them.

Isaac and Liam looked back through the ring of fire they had just crossed. Beyond it, they could see the grey and snowy world behind them, and the dark road they had walked. Running down that road they saw Stiles, calling out for them.

“Stiles?” Isaac turned around, eyes wide in confusion. “I thought… you were up ahead?”

Stiles kept running, huffing and puffing until he crossed the disc. He nearly collapsed, but Liam and Isaac held him up.

“I, I… _phew_ …” Stiles wheezed, and Isaac rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t let my two favourite werewolves go on a holiday without me!”

“What are you talking about? _You_ brought us _here_ ,” Liam said.

“Yes,” Isaac agreed. “I was having dinner with Scott and you ruined it.”

“How is he?” Liam suddenly changed topic.

“Oh, he’s all ok,” Isaac replied with a giddy smile as he thought of Scott.

“Erm… hello?” Stiles interrupted. “I thought you were questioning me?”

Isaac and Liam looked at each other and, with a nod, they dropped Stiles on the floor.

“Next time,” Stiles complained as he stood up, “I shall _not_ come running after you.” He dusted his shorts and shirt. “Anyhow, where are we?”

“I thought we were going to the beach?” Liam answered.

“What, as in… to that beach _there_?” Isaac pointed down the hill. There they could see a long white beach with an impossibly blue ocean and a small village with green-tiled roofs. They had nothing else to do, so they decided to go to the beach. After all, it was sunny and warm.

***

Demetria shook her head as she sat up, feeling sick in her stomach. They had been jumping further and further into the future, hardly stopping at all, running away from the Hound. Without any real time to do proper calculations, their leaps forward were blind and random. As far as they could tell, they were still in the distant pre-Human past, even after seventeen jumps forward.

Right then, they had just woken up in the Dreamlands, as they got ready for another further jump.

“Please, we need to stop,” she begged, stopping herself from vomiting. “We are fleeing like headless chickens. These jumps will be the death of us…”

“The Hound will be the death of us. Running forward is the only way to avoid it,” Aurelius said.

“There has to be some other way!” Heraklios barked angrily.

“We need to stop and think,” Hypathia suggested, her voice tired. “We have put enough distance between it and us. And we’re in the Land of Dreams now. That surely gives us more time to think and calculate?”

“No! There is no time!” Aurelius cried. “That _thing_ is hunting us, and it is following us, and…”

“Yes, we get the picture,” Demetria cut him short, trying to remain calm. “But there must be a way? What does your book say?”

“The book?” Aurelius asked, not really understanding.

“The _Book of Eibon_ , you babbling idiot!” Heraklios snarled.

Aurelius nodded nervously, until he eventually and carefully pulled out the book from his travelling sack and leafed it carefully, looking for the section about the Hound. The other philosophers circled around him in expectation.

“There may be something here,” Aurelius admitted. “But we’re going to need more time to study this, and more books.”

“That’s fine,” Demetria added, trying to be positive. “In the Land of Dreams time passes differently. And they have many libraries.”

“There is still a Hound out there hunting us,” Heraklios cautioned. “We can’t just sleep until we find the answer, or the Hound will eventually catch up with us and kill us in our sleep. Should I remind you that our bodies are _out there_ in a cave in the distant past unprotected?”

The six other philosophers looked at each other nervously.

“Let’s head towards that village,” Demetria suggested. “We can take a few moments to stop and think. By Zeus, we haven’t stopped in between jumps at all, and we have run out of lotus drink! We should take this chance to plan ahead, calculate our jump and pray the gods for a solution.”

They all appeared to agree or, at least, none of them spoke their disagreement aloud. Once they made sure that they had all their stuff, they made their way to the village down the road.

Even as they walked, Aurelius had his nose stuck in the book, reading paragraph after paragraph, trying to understand the nature of the creature that was after them, and what were their chances to stop it. He did not even notice when they got to the village, when they entered a tavern, or when a bowl of stew was put in front of him.

“Eat.” Heraklios ordered. “And then speak.”

Aurelius looked shiftily around. He pushed the bowl away and laid the book carefully on the table.

“It comes from the _angles_ ,” he whispered through a mad grin as he pointed with one trembling finger to a specific paragraph, his left eye twitching visibly.

“From where?”

“From the _angles_!” he shouted still in a whisper. “The Hounds of Tindalos enter our reality through angles just like we open rifts to jump through time.”

“Angles.” Demetria deadpanned. Anthemios and Cleomena looked at her with mirroring faces of confusion.

“Angles. Corners! Anything with an edge. A room, a chest, a table, a rock, a blade…” Aurelius explained as his finger tapped repeatedly and rapidly on the table.

“So you want us to- to- to _plaster_ your cellar until it’s as smooth as an egg and… and _hide_?” Heraklios said in disbelief.

“No, no. Yes, but no!” Aurelius continued to explain. “That will only secure us some very necessary time. It will not be able to follow our scent through the void, or trace our jumps for a while, but it will find us. However,” he said, lowering his voice even more, so that the rest of his companions had to lean in even closer—“it will give us enough time to tap into a source of power and set up a trap.”

***

“Dude!” Liam cried, stopping suddenly and looking down. “Where’s my pineapple shirt?”

“Your _what_?” Stiles asked, turning around.

“No way! Mine’s gone too?” Isaac said in the same surprised tone.

Isaac and Liam looked at each other. They were wearing some very weird clothes, the likes of which they had only seen in Renaissance fairs and TV shows. Liam was wearing a loose red shirt with a black, sleeveless, leather jerkin. Isaac had an impeccable white shirt with a ruffed collar under a blue, padded cloth doublet.

“You were wearing matching pineapple _shirts_?” Stiles asked with a smile. He was in a plain and rough cream-coloured woolly tunic with a thick, vertical, burgundy line across the middle, and a wide leather belt across his waist – no trace of his Hawaiian shirt.

“We’re always wearing matching shirts when…” Liam began to say, but stopped. “When… well... when, _you_ know.” Liam made a nondescript and vague hand gesture as he arched his eyebrows emphatically. Isaac froze mid-chuckle – he _remembered_ that from another dream!

“Yes…” Stiles said slowly after a pause, as if he were thinking carefully as he spoke, conscious that this time was, perhaps, not the best moment for him to just blurt out whatever crossed his mind. “I know… but I was pretty sure that I was not doing it this time?”

“Doing what?” Isaac asked, dreading the answer.

Stiles looked nervously around them, and brought his two friends closer into a huddle. Not one of them seemed to notice that they all had the same thin chain with two small silver rings hanging from their necks.

“Is any of you dreaming right now?” Stiles asked carefully but bluntly.

Liam froze while Isaac bit his lip and scratched the back of his head, glaring nervously between Stiles and Liam, waiting to see which one would speak first. Liam and Isaac were thinking the same ( _yes, we are dreaming_ ), but neither dared put it into words, fearing that if they admitted it everything would snap and they would wake up. Stiles read the werewolves’ faces and nodded slowly.

“Okay, okay. Cool, cool, cool, cool…” Stiles put his hands up and bobbed his head. “No need to confirm or deny right now boys, but I think I have my answer. You’re as eloquent as ever.”

“Stiles… has this, like…” Liam said, clearly uncomfortable with the implications. “Has this happened before?”

A loud bray in the distance interrupted their conversation.

“What was that?” Stiles said quickly as he poked his head up like a meerkat.

“Is that…?” Liam began to ask as he turned around, trying to locate the bray.

“I think that’s the sign for us to leg it,” Isaac answered when he saw where the noise had come from.

Up on the hill, not that far from them, Isaac pointed at a figure clad in iron, holding a nasty looking sword and riding on a… a _zebra_?

“Wait, no,” Stiles added. “I know that lady. She’s the old lady on the zebra who asked me about dinner once upon a dream.”

“Are you even serious now, Stiles?” Isaac asked with a horrified expression. “That’s not an old lady. That’s a zebra-riding warrior with a frigging sword.”

“And they are coming straight for us now…” Liam said as he grabbed Stiles and began to run.

When Isaac saw that Liam was taking Stiles away into safety, he lowered his body position and snarled at the zebra warrior, who was now clearly charging towards them. Isaac summoned his wolf as he growled… but nothing happened.

 _What_?

Isaac looked at his hands, but instead of claws, he had his usual blunt fingernails. He touched his face and could not feel any of the extra hair that normally grew when he shifted. But, of course, he hadn’t. Maybe he couldn’t?

 _Fuck_.

“Isaac!” Liam called, and Isaac very quickly turned around and ran down the hill towards his friends.

“Keep running!” Isaac shouted as he felt the zebra warrior galloping closer and closer. Within a few seconds, he could sense that the knight was just behind him and, out of pure instinct, ducked and rolled on the grass, avoiding a sword slash that cut the air where his head had just been.

_Fuck me sideways!_

Isaac saw the zebra knight ignoring him as they continued charging down towards Liam and Stiles. He ran after them, knowing well that he _had_ to do something, but if he could not shift, he was out of ideas. Isaac had never realised how much he had grown to rely on being a werewolf for combat situations – but immediately he shook his head, telling himself that he should _not_ be used to combat situations at all. _If Chris were here, though, he’d have a cross—_

Just as Isaac was thinking about the Argent’s anti-werewolf weapon of choice (one that Isaac had had to learn how to shoot once, long ago), he felt something heavy and solid weighing him down from his back. He did not need to double check to _know_ that it was a crossbow.

“Liam, Stiles! Watch out!” Isaac yelled as he took a knee and took aim with the crossbow. That was not the military-grade, titanium weapon he knew; it was a heavy wood and forged iron, old-style crossbow. Isaac prayed to anyone listening that one shot was enough, because he did not have the foggiest idea of how to reload it.

Isaac heard Liam and Stiles scream as the zebra knight approached, and he pulled the trigger. For a never-ending second, the werewolf looked at the bolt flying in the air until it lodged itself firmly in the arm of the knight, who drew back the reigns in pain, causing the zebra to turn abruptly, throwing the rider a few yards in the air.

The werewolf lost no time and, dropping the crossbow, he darted forward, yelling and screaming at Liam and Stiles to run away towards the village, but his friends had stopped to wait for him. _Geez, these two will never learn to listen…_

As he approached the fallen knight, who was still struggling in pain, Isaac kicked the helmet-encased head, and kicked it _hard_ , but he did not even stop. He simply kept on running towards Liam and Stiles, who were calling for him.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“I don’t know- I don’t care. Just _run_!”

“Where?” Stiles asked, wheezing and panting.

“Not know, Stiles…” Isaac said, biting his lip and holding Stiles by his shoulder, dragging him along, and getting away as fast as they could.

“The village,” Liam decided as he held Stiles’ other arm and helped his friends. “At least we can hide there until we wake up.”

***

Cantior was sitting quietly at the far corner of the bar. He had had enough time to drink slowly a jug of wine, have a friendly conversation with the innkeeper, play a game of dice with a few opal traders from Sinara, and have a bowl of stew. After leaving the village on the hills that morning, he felt like he was entitled to have a peaceful and quiet afternoon in a tavern before travelling back home. Right now, he was sipping on a second jug of wine, silently people watching.

Most of the people in the tavern were traders and merchants from all across the Dreamlands, their camels and donkeys clearly audible in the back yard. There were a few hopeful mercenaries trying to secure a job, posing menacingly by the entrance, and laying on their tables the weapons of their trade. There were also a number of local craftsmen on their lunch break, who seemed to ignore the previous two groups and secured a few tables at the very back of the tavern, by the fireplace. Lastly, Cantior saw that there was also a table of travellers, clearly in distress, and mumbling amongst themselves over a book. Those were the kind of folk that, in Cantior’s experience, ended up causing trouble. The Outsider shook his head as he calmly drank from his wine.

That is, calmly until three people stumbled into the tavern, all but kicking the door down.

***

Isaac went to open the door of the tavern, but Liam beat him to it and pushed it hard. Too hard, perhaps – such was his hurry to get out of the open. Liam marched in, still half-carrying Stiles before stopping dead on his tracks. The entire tavern had gone silent, and all the locals were suddenly looking intently at the three of them.

“Sorry, sorry…” Liam mumbled.

Isaac rolled his eyes and stepped in, walking around his two friends and heading towards the nearest empty table. Liam and Stiles looked at each other before quickly making a beeline behind their friend. Once they sat down, the tavern’s patrons went back to their own conversations, and the room filled with the hubbub of voices.

“So, okay, what was that all about?” Stiles asked the moment he sat down on the bench by the wall, not letting either of his werewolf friends say anything. “Because, I mean. I had to chase you through a ring of fire to arrive to a place worthy of featuring in a travel agency brochure were it not for the crazy murderous zebra-riding locals.”

“Stiles—“

“No. I haven’t finished. I mean—“

Liam kicked Stiles’ shin under the table and pointed with his head towards the large, barrel-like tavern lady who had approached them.

“What will it be?”

“Sorry, miss, but we were—ouch!” Stiles yelped as Liam connected his foot with his shin _again_.

“We’ll have three beers, please,” Isaac asked in his best polite voice. “And perhaps food…?”

“There’s stew,” the lady barked back.

“Oh, that’ll be lovely,” Isaac replied.

“What kind of—ouch! _Liam_?”

Isaac rolled his eyes as Liam tried to tell Stiles through a combination of eyebrow wriggling and gentle kicking to shut his cake hole.

“Rabbit stew and dumplings,” the lady said with the same lack of enthusiasm. “It’ll be four crowns, in all.”

“I, erm…” Isaac suddenly panicked as he realised that he had no money.

“I have!” Liam said quickly. “I do. I have them, here, just…” he produced a bag from his jerkin and handed it over to the woman, who felt the weight in her hand before pocketing it.

The woman left. Liam’s surprised face was all Isaac and Stiles needed to know that the younger werewolf had no idea whatsoever about where that money had come from.

“Okay, please, now, can we really discuss what the hell is going on here?” Stiles said through gritted teeth once the tavern woman was gone out of earshot. “Because I have a number of questions, and I know you do too. One,” he started counting with his fingers, “what was that ring of fire and where did it lead us to—“

“That’s two,” Isaac interrupted with a smug smile.

“All this time and still you’re so _willingly_ unhelpful!” Stiles barked back, while Isaac just gave him an even wider grin. “Okay. _Three_ , how did you get hold of a crossbow. Four, how did Liam pay for our meal. Five”—Stiles was interrupted by the woman bringing their food and drink—“whatever happened to our Hawaiian shirts. Six, what _is_ this place.”

“Are you not going to ask at all why would a random zebra knight want to kill us?” Liam asked in a low and worried voice.

“I long ago gave up on those absurd questions, Liam. Catch up.”

Liam glared at Isaac, as if expecting some support, but the other beta buried his face in is beer and tried to hide his chuckle.

“Enough of that, you two!” Stiles insisted, feeling that the two werewolves were not taking their situation seriously enough. “Can’t you see that something weird is happening when…” Stiles lowered his voice even more, “when we’re dreaming?”

Liam and Isaac conferred silently with each other. Both seemed to agree, but were still unwilling to accept it. Isaac looked down into his stew, pushing around the dumplings that floated in the rich broth, until he fished out a bit of meat.

“Well?” Stiles demanded.

“Er…” Liam eloquently replied.

“Isaac, please, listen to me,” Stiles insisted.

“I am listening,” he answered slowly as he ate. “But I still can’t get my head around why are you being so pushy in my own dream.”

“Are you seriously thinking this is still all in your dream?” Stiles deadpanned.

“Why wouldn’t it be? I fell asleep and woke up in a dream with Scott,” Isaac explained as he chewed. “You’re the one part of my imagination that keeps coming to nag at me in my dreams,” he pointed with the spoon, getting angrier by the second. He was having enough of Stiles and his theories.

“Isaac, listen—“

“No, _you_ listen,” Isaac snapped back. “Liam and I were worried about you because you were fidgety. Liam and I have been spending a lot of time together this summer, and we are worried about you.”

“So you’re saying that your experiences and memories from the day are being shuffled randomly while you sleep?” Stiles retorted, all pretence of talking in a low voice gone.

“Guys…” Liam tried to interrupt.

“Well, you’ll find _that_ is precisely the definition of what a dream is,” Isaac replied, refusing to look at Stiles and focusing on his food. Who knew food in dreams could be so tasty?

“Isaac, for fuck’s sake!” Stiles stood up. Isaac rolled his eyes and leant back in his chair, arms crossed, waiting for Stiles’ inevitable explanation. “We do not understand what dreams are. We do not understand what we are doing _here_. We could be in a shared space, like in bardo, like when Scott had to come for me, or like when we were dunked in ice baths and _we repowered the nemeton_!”

“Boys…” Liam tried again. He appeared to be the only one to notice that the tavern had gone quiet and that everyone was looking at them.

Isaac rolled his eyes.

“Jesus _wept_ , Stiles!” Isaac was getting tired of this. “God knows you’re one of my best friends, but can you _please_ stop lecturing me in my own—“

“Duck!” Liam shouted.

Isaac might have not been able to shift, but he was still quicker than Stiles, so he ducked when Liam shouted. Before Stiles could react, a gauntleted fist connected with his face, knocking him out on the table, throwing the bowls of stew and the tankards of beer flying.

Isaac immediately saw that the zebra knight had walked into the tavern, and was very clearly interested in them. Liam had rolled away and was now trying to get back on his feet, but the zebra knight was on to him, and kicked his head with a metal boot. Isaac was the only one standing, his friends unconscious. He had been pushed against a wall, and the feeling of being cornered soon began to trigger unpleasant memories from his teenage years. Behind the knight, who was quickly approaching him, Isaac could see the door. He could leap and rush towards the exit, but he crushed that thought the very instant it crossed his mind. He would not leave his friends knocked out on a dirty tavern floor—even in a dream.

The beta got ready to lunge, changing his body position and pressing the balls of his feet firmly against the floor. When the knight was within reach, he pushed himself forward, hoping for a shoulder tackle into the knight’s middle body. His timing and his accuracy were perfect, but he had never expected to connect his shoulder against a metal armour. Isaac felt the pain shocking through his body, while the knight pulled out a knife and pummelled the back of Isaac’s head.

Everything around went fuzzy, and Isaac blacked out.

***

“A source of power?” Demetria did not understand. “What are you talking about?”

“You want us to set a trap to contain that- that- that… _thing_?” Hypathia asked with worry. She had not seen the creature herself, but the state of shock in which they had found Aurelius, Demetria and Heraklios had been enough to inspire her with terror.

“We are going to need a spot where the powers of Earth are stronger,” Aurelius explained. “Like maybe the spring of Iuturna, the Siwa oasis, or the Amalthean cave. Or one of the sacred trees of the Celts…”

“All of those things were very well and fine,” Demetria said, “but we need to find one which is active. It won’t do us any good to arrive four hundred years after the power has been drained!”

“Do we know any place like this?” Anthemios asked innocently. Nobody knew.

That is, until a brawl began in the far corner of the tavern and one of the newcomers suddenly yelled ‘ _we repowered the nemeton!_ ’.

***

Cantior looked at the three strangers that erupted into the tavern with curiosity. The way they looked and behaved showed that they were clearly not from around. Their clothes and their mannerisms proved that they were definitely not merchants. In fact, they looked lost, confused, and out of their depth. Almost as if…

 _Outsiders_!

He pushed his drink away and leant closer, trying to eavesdrop into their conversation, but they were too far away, and the lively talk of the other patrons meant that he only got a dull hubbub. Soon he was able to hear what they were yelling at each other as the tavern went quiet, sensing the brawl developing. One of them stood up, leaning his fists on the table and almost barking at another one, who was sitting with his back towards Cantior.

But the brawl did not start until an armoured knight walked in and punched the angry Outsider cold. The two others tried to put up a fight, but it was clear that they had never fought against someone in armour, and rather than punching it seemed as if they had tried to _scratch_ with their nails at the knight.

The fight was short and bitter. When the three Outsiders were subdued, the knight dragged them out one by one, throwing them out the door as the patrons looked in silence.

Cantior made a mental note to try and find the Outsiders when they eventually woke up in the stocks or the pillory, but when the knight walked back in to pull the third Outsider, his face sparked a memory. The face he saw was familiar, even if he did not recognise it. Something about the colour of the curly hair and the characteristic _earlobe_ , of all things, that fitted into a gap in his memory. The memory was turning into a burning sensation, as if an event from his previous life had suddenly appeared in front of him and prodded his memory with a hot iron. He needed to find out who that Outsider was. He needed _to know_!

He stood up and rushed towards the tavern entrance, hoping to find the knight and beg to question the Outsider, but when he opened the door there was nobody there. Cantior looked around at the deserted town square, and let out a long-held sigh, knowing that the second part of his journey was about to begin.

***

From one of the corners of the tavern, an unnoticed dark-clad figure smiled wryly. _Everything_ was nicely fitting into place. It had been surprisingly easy to lure the outsiders into the Dreamlands, even if the untimely arrival of that Oneiric Pilgrim had almost foiled the plan. Almost, but not quite. The tavern brawl had caught the attention of the right people. The Hound was on the loose. All the pieces were now set, and they only had to _wait_ for the final trigger before they could lay back and watch the game unfold.

This was going to be _fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that now that the paths of the three main characters have crossed, the story is clearer. 
> 
> Any thoughts so far?


	9. Dreamwalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew he should say something else, but he could not bring himself to do it. When it came to the complex workings of his mind and his feelings, Isaac never managed to find the strength to talk about them. Furthermore, the moment he said anything he would have to admit that something was happening. Something that would inevitably snowball and put an end to Isaac’s peaceful life.
> 
> OR: Isaac begins to worry about his dreams

When he woke up, Isaac was falling through the void. It was dark, and cold, and _empty_. _So I’m not really awake…_ His breathing and his pulse accelerated, and even as he fell he curled into a ball. The memories of last summer, when he’d had a vivid day dream, kept flashing back: climbing up the hill with his brother, the Wolf Star, the maddening and echoing two-pitched voice in his head … _Wolf. Knight. Dreamwalker_.

Isaac screamed into the void.

But he was not in the void anymore. He was in a massive empty room. The ceiling was so far up as to be almost invisible. The floor was cold polished slabs. Around him, a forest of fluted white marble columns extended in all directions. The four columns around him had large bronze braziers with roaring fires, casting a warm orange light and _many_ dark shadows.

As he stood up, Isaac realised that he was now wearing his pyjama bottoms and one of his old rugby t-shirts, and had nothing else on him. Not even shoes or socks on his feet. He was wearing exactly what he had on right then in the woken world. A shudder went down his spine as he realised it.

“Hello?” he asked cautiously. “Anyone there?”

His voice travelled across the empty hall of columns, returning as a distorted and distant echo.

“Stiles? Liam?” he asked again, looking around him, as if waiting for his two friends to appear at any moment.

“… Scott?” he asked finally, his voice now low and trembling.

Isaac advanced slowly towards one of the braziers, trying to look beyond the space illuminated immediately around him, but he could not see anything. It was so weird to be trapped in a space so vast… It was so different from being trapped _in a freezer_ …

A soft thud sounded behind him. Isaac quickly turned around, all fangs and claws, but there was nobody there. There was _something_.

In front of him, Isaac could now see two massive gates of solid darkness, absorbing all the light of the fires. The gates had materialised in between two of the columns, and Isaac could see that there were two keyholes, from which bright light emerged. Slowly, Isaac approached the black gates, driven by some insane curiosity that had never been there. It was as if a force were tugging him towards it, and his conscious self could do nothing about it.

His hands trembled, and his mouth went dry, but eventually he managed to look through the keyhole. Beyond the gates he caught a glimpse of green rolling hills, of a land warmed by the sun and, in the distance, a terrifyingly familiar-looking village.

 _Dreamwalker_ echoed in Isaac’s head, and suddenly things began to make sense. Hadn’t he dreamed about a large pair of keys?

The moment the memory of the keys appeared in his mind, Isaac felt a tingling sensation in his pocket, the same pocket from which he had pulled out in two occasions the two large bronze keys linked in an iron ring. Isaac brought his unsteady hand down to his side, where the tingling sensation had turned into a painful and intense burn.

Isaac supressed a scream as he forced his hand down towards his pocket, but the _pain_ became unbearable.

Isaac passed out.

***

Isaac woke up.

His last dream had been a rollercoaster of events, from Scott, to being chased by a knight on a zebra, to the dark forest of pillars and the Black Gates. He opened his eyes, feeling mentally exhausted and emotionally drained. This time, his inner wolf had no choice but to agree that something was wrong, whining and whimpering lowly inside him with his ears back against his neck. Huffing and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Isaac got out of bed without waking Scott up and went downstairs to get something cold to drink.

It was still very early, and the sun had only just began to rise over the horizon, but there was still enough light filtering through the windows so that Isaac did not need to turn any lights on. Once in the kitchen, he opened the fridge door, stared blankly at the contents for three full minutes before closing it without taking anything out. He then got a bowl and the box of cereal out of the cupboard, left them on the counter, and turned around to stare into the kitchen, sitting silently on one of the stools. After a couple of minutes, Isaac went to the fridge, opened the door, and grabbed the bottle of milk, the bowl and cereal now completely forgotten. He first went to the living room, but it was warm and stuffy in there, so he walked back to the kitchen, opened the back door, and sat on the step. He stayed there, gazing into the back yard as he drank the milk, going over the dreams again and again he had had recently.

They had to mean something, surely. _But what_? Why was it always Liam and Stiles in them? That was not true, actually; Scott was usually there. And so was Melissa, and Chris, and Derek, and… and fucking _Theo_. Isaac felt his inner wolf growl while his fur bristled. Isaac himself narrowed his eyes and took a long drink from the milk bottle as he willed his claws back. The point still remained, that anyone who happened to be in his dream would behave normally… or at least they would behave in a way that was normal for a dream. Only Liam and Stiles behaved differently, as if they knew that they were in a dream, and yet they behaved as if they were not? In fact, a couple of times dream-Stiles and dream-Liam had said that they were dreaming. _Why would they say that in my dream?_

None of that was normal, Isaac thought.

Then, of course, was the question of why _only_ Liam and Stiles were behaving weirdly. The logical answer was that his woken worries were being reflected in his dreams. As far as Isaac could tell, that was standard psychology (he may or may not have been checking the Wikipedia entry on dreams recently). But the feeling of dread and foreboding inside and the unease of Inner Wolf told him that something else was on.

_But what?_

Isaac tried to remember what had happened recently, but everything in the last months had been normal – barring the trip to Montana with Liam, but that was a completely different issue. The only logical explanation was that it had to do with the mi-go and the Nyarlathotep cult that had almost taken over Beacon Hills last year. But that had been a year ago. _Why would all of this start now_? Obviously the anniversary must have been playing a main role in this. But if it was all the anniversary, it meant that his subconscious was doing it all to himself, and that there were no external reasons.

 _Wolf. Knight. Dreamwalker_.

The words Nyarlathotep had whispered at him echoed in his head once again, but before he could think anymore about it, a voice called his name behind him.

“Isaac?”

Isaac jumped a foot in the air.

“You better not have drunk all the milk,” the familiar voice said with a warning tone.

The werewolf turned around to see a very tired Melissa, who had obviously just come back from a late shift, walking towards him. She made Isaac move over before sitting by his side on the kitchen step, both now looking out into the back garden enjoying the cool morning air.

“You _have_ drunk all the milk,” Mrs McCall eventually stated. “Isaac!” she slapped his shoulder.

“Sorry…”

The boy looked down at the empty plastic bottle and suddenly felt bad. He then checked the time and realised that he had been sat there for over an hour, completely lost in his own mind, and secretly thankful that, at least, this time he was awake.

“What are you doing up so early, anyways? Not even Chris is up yet. It’s not like you being so proactive in the morning in the holidays…” Isaac blushed. “Is anything wrong?”

Isaac stared at the yard in silence, squinting his eyes in the bright light of the early summer morning. He thought carefully before answering.

“I don’t know. I’ve just had a few weird dreams. I mean,” he admitted, still looking out into the garden. “I have them from time to time. They’re not really nightmares, but…”

“You’re not resting well,” she said with a smile. “That’d make _anyone_ cranky, believe me,” she added, placing a hand on Isaac’s arm so that he looked at her. The werewolf almost blushed; he was _still_ not used to having Melissa McCall looking caringly and lovingly at him and mothering him all over. “Tell you what: you are going to put some clothes and your shoes on, you’re going to go to the shop, and you’re going to buy some milk before one of those two snoring machines upstairs wake up.”

Isaac exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, but he smiled and nodded. Melissa fished into her purse and gave him more than a few dollars.

“Erm… Melissa? That’s more than plenty for milk.”

“Yeah. But you need to buy yourself some comfort doughnuts,” she added with a wink before planting a kiss on his head and heading back inside.

“Mum?” he called before she went up the stairs.

“Yes, honey?”

“Thanks.”

***

“Well, well, well… but isn’t it my favourite werewolf calling?” Isaac smiled as he heard Iestyn’s voice on the phone. Before Isaac could reply, he heard the druid talking to someone else on his end of the line. “Oh shut _up_ , Tom. He’s only my favourite _American_ werewolf, he is. Now, bugger off, I’m on the phone. Sorry, butt!”

“That’s ok, Iestyn. How are things?”

Knowing that Wales was several hours ahead, Isaac had decided to ring his old friend as he walked to the shop to buy milk and doughnuts. Walking gave him more time to think and stretch his legs. Iestyn immediately went on a five-minute rant about his own pack. Isaac’s impression was that, despite all its shortcomings, the McCall pack was a model of virtue when compared to the ‘rowdy gang of little gits’ that Iestyn was advising. There were definitely many ways of being emissary to a pack…

Eventually, Iestyn asked Isaac about how he was doing, and the werewolf found himself shrugging and huffing, until he replied with a bland ‘I don’t know’.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“You may be four thousand miles away, but I know you well, Lahey. Stop scratching your head and stand up straight,” Isaac, who was slouching and had his hand on the back of his neck, stopped. “Spill.”

“You remember when I told you about those dreams I had last summer?”

“I do, yeah. Go on,” the druid said expectantly.

“Well… they’re sort of back? But, like, more intense.”

“Because that makes sense, Isaac.”

Isaac got to the shop at that moment. He sighed and went on a full explanation of what he remembered from his dreams. To his credit, Iestyn did not interrupt once, and only after the werewolf stopped, he spoke again.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Iestyn admitted. “This is more linked to normal psychology than it is to werewolf comforting, which I remind you is my stuff.”

“But don’t you think that there has to be something else? I mean, I feel that there is something that doesn’t make much sense yet. And I’m afraid that when it makes sense it might be too late…” Isaac’s voice went low with worry as he admitted that.

“Have you told Scott?”

“No. I don’t want to tell him yet,” Isaac said, looking down at his feet as he leant against the wall of the shop and slouched again.

“Why not?” Iestyn pushed, his tone slightly impatient.

“Because he’ll get all worried, and he’ll make a big deal out of it—“

“You’re the one making a big deal out of it now, mate.”

“So that’s why I don’t want to tell Scott yet! It may be nothing.”

“Isaac, listen. We’ve talked about this before, you remember? When we were in France back in prehistory, so many moons ago. We talked about how you felt about Scott and how he felt about you?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Because you’re bottling up,” Iestyn deadpanned. “It may be nothing, it may be something, but you are just doing your usual move.” After a silent pause when Isaac focused solely on his shoelaces, Iestyn spoke again. “Is that what you wanted me to tell you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s a bit difficult for me to judge what’s going on with an ocean in between…”

“I know, I’m sorry…” Isaac sighed as he massaged his temples and closed his eyes.

“Come on. Cheer up. Trust your wolf and make up your mind. Maybe you just need a few more days, if you’re not sure yet of what’s happening,” Iestyn added helpfully. He never liked it when Isaac sulked, but he was not going to lie just to comfort him.

“Okay… Thanks anyways,” Isaac replied, pushing himself up straight.

“No problem!”

“ _Diolch, cariad_ ,” Isaac added with a grin.

“Don’t you go sweet talking me, you sly sexy beast” Iestyn chuckled.

They said their goodbyes in higher spirits and Isaac walked into the shop to actually buy the milk and doughnuts he had set forth to acquire in the first place.

As he walked back home, Isaac could not stop his head from mulling over and over the same thoughts again. It was all in his head; it could still be nothing; his wolf was overreacting; he was being paranoid; it’s just the anniversary; better to wait and see; _oh, but look at what happened the last time you waited to see what happened, Lahey_ … He was definitely not getting any clear ideas, and it was beginning to give him a headache.

By the time he got back to his street, Isaac had at least decided that he would give it a couple more days, just as he had told Liam that they should do with Stiles. Only then he realised that he had drunk the entire bottle of milk. _Again_.

He sighed and rolled his eyes as he turned around and retraced his steps back to the shop.

***

By the time Isaac got home, both Chris and Scott were up, the latter quite worried about the lack of milk and, once Isaac walked in with his mouth evidently covered in sugar, affronted by the lack of doughnuts.

For a change, Isaac was the busy one that morning, as he had to work with Chris on the Dupont sale, so they worked in Chris’ office (Isaac’s old bedroom) all morning, each at their laptop, exchanging files and phone calls until lunch time. More than once Chris found Isaac staring into the distance, clearly deep in thought, and miles away from reality. The veteran hunter told Isaac to have the rest of the day off with resignation, and the werewolf had the decency to look ashamed when he was dismissed.

The rest of the day Isaac spent with Scott. They had nothing planned, and yet Isaac refused all of Scott’s suggestions to go out and meet the rest of the pack. Even when Chris and Melissa announced that they were going to spend the afternoon with the Sheriff and Natalie (which was, of course, an invitation to go and see Stiles and Lydia), Isaac passed. Scott was not discouraged by this, as he loved spending quality time with Isaac, but it was clear to anyone (even someone as oblivious as Scott) that there was something off with the beta that day.

After a year of living together, Scott had learnt that when Isaac was really worried about something he had a tendency to clam up, and prompting or prying would only push him further away. That usually left Scott with an internal dilemma: his default mode was to ask (and it physically hurt him seeing Isaac sulking), but asking would only make Isaac feel pressured. The alpha wanted to believe that he had found a way to reach his boyfriend in such situations, which included supportive physical contact but no verbal communication. That usually relaxed Isaac enough for him to open up and explain what was going on.

So Scott went on with his plan. He decided that a quiet afternoon was best spent with some easy to watch film and the a/c on, holding hands, tracing slow circles on Isaac’s skin, and kissing his boyfriend’s curls. For all of Scott’s efforts, none of that did the trick this time. All through the movie Isaac remained surprisingly quiet and unresponsive, and all of the beta’s attempts to communicate were nuzzling Scott’s neck and shoulder and squeezing his hand.

Scott next tried to bribe Isaac. He went to the kitchen when the film finished and came back after a while with home-made lemonade and cheesy nachos. Isaac did mutter a quiet ‘thank you’ this time, but that only made Scott worry more. The alpha put some show or other they had watched already on Netflix, but he began to explain what had been happening in the clinic during the last few days, detailing all the puppies he had had to feed, bathe, and vaccinate. Isaac seemed to be paying attention, and to relax a bit more with the mundane and normal conversation, but the alpha could still feel that his boyfriend’s mind was mulling something.

Eventually their parents came back, Melissa slightly in a hurry because she had to go to work in a few minutes. Chris sat in the living room with them and looked intently at Scott, while asking silently with chin-pointing and eyebrow-wriggling if Isaac (who was staring blankly at the television while resting his head on Scott’s shoulder) was okay. Scott replied in the same non-verbal way, transmitting that he was not, but that he did not know why. Chris went very serious for a few seconds before solemnly standing up and announcing loudly that he was going outside to the garden to read his book. Isaac nodded in approval, but he did not see Chris mutely telling Scott to ask.

When Chris closed the kitchen door behind him, Scott stretched his arms and yawned loudly, forcing Isaac to sit up straight. With all the casual nonchalance he could muster, Scott asked his question.

“Are you okay, babe?”

***

Isaac lowered his head, hugged a cushion tight against his chest, and sighed quietly. He knew he could not avoid Scott’s question and, to be fair, he was surprised it had taken him so long to finally ask. His boyfriend might be at times oblivious, but he was not stupid, and Isaac had always been told that he was easy to read. Still, he did not want to tell Scott what was going on, because it would only open a can of worms. But then again, Scott had been so nice and patient with him all day, giving him time, and physically comforting him, that Isaac felt bad for not saying anything.

What was he to say? _Oh, sorry babe, but I am having these awful dreams that end up with me in front of some gigantic black gates of doom, which are clearly evil, but that draw me to them regardless, and there’s nothing you can do about them, because it’s all in my mind?_ That would only get Scott worked up and stressed. Even worse, Scott may reach some very wrong conclusions: that it was related to the nemeton, to his ice bath, to the nogitsune… But Isaac knew better, because they _had_ destroyed the nogitsune (and he had witnessed it being done), it had been _years_ since his ice bath (and he had recovered quite well), and the nemeton was… Well; the nemeton had been quite calm for a year.

It was all anxiety and stress after all, right? All completely understandable and mundane. All perfectly normal. Stress after last summer’s events, stress after his final exam, and stress after the anniversary. It had to be stress. Stress after some traumatic events… Applying cold logic, Isaac was sure that it was that. If it was something simple and straightforward at that, Isaac simply needed some time. He just needed to enjoy his holidays and forget his worries; push them away and bottle them up. There was nothing Scott could do, so it was pointless to bother him with Isaac’s insecurities.

“Babe?”

Isaac sighed. He had been quiet for a long while. “Nothing…”

“I don’t need to have werewolf senses to know you’re telling lies…”

Isaac blushed and looked down at his hands, not wanting to look at Scott.

“Don’t worry, Scott,” he eventually mumbled.

“I _will_ worry. Especially when you say things like those.”

Scott went to put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, but the beta flinched and shrugged it off. Isaac kept looking away, so he could not see the painful rejection that suddenly flashed on Scott’s face.

“Isaac, what’s wrong?”

Isaac’s inner wolf was whining, his back arched and his ears flat against his neck. Scott tried to reach him through his alpha wolf, but he could not get to his beta.

“Isaac, please talk to me. You’re really scaring me now,” and Isaac could tell in Scott’s voice that his boyfriend was terrified. “Is it something I’ve done? I’m terribly sorry, I know I’ve been busy with the clinic and stuff but… Is it…” Scott stopped suddenly, his entire body language changing, and his voice going dull and cold. “Is it about _us_?”

Scott’s last words were loaded with fear, and Isaac could not take that. He _never_ wanted to hurt Scott, and he would be with him for as long as Scott wanted him. Isaac finally turned around and looked into his boyfriend’s eyes, quickly holding his hand.

“No! No, Scott… Of course it’s not… I would never…” Isaac was having trouble putting words together – the single thought of breaking up with Scott choking him.

“Then what is it?” Scott was only fractionally calmer.

“It’s nothing, really,” Isaac said dismissively again.

“You wouldn’t be like that for _nothing_ ,” Scott insisted. Now that Isaac was finally talking, he was not going to let his boyfriend off the hook. “So _tell_ me. Why are you like this today? Why did you wake up so early this morning?”

Isaac sighed and looked down, but Scott’s hand was quickly under his chin, keeping him looking up.

“Isaac, I’m your _boyfriend_. You’re my best friend. Surely you know you can tell me anything. Please?”

The beta slowly nodded as a distant memory echoed in his head. _I don’t like keeping things from Scott… Because I trust you…_

“I don’t know…” Isaac uttered as he deflated and sat back on the couch.

It was not a lie, but it was not all the truth. In Isaac’s mind there was an idea forming, but it was still too vague, and probably mostly nonsense. And, in any case, there was nothing Scott could do. Isaac feared that his subconscious was being rattled by the memories of last year’s encounter with Nyarlathotep. There was something in the way he had called him a _dreamwalker_ –whatever that meant—, that still echoed in his mind. But he had not been the one dealing with him, right? Stiles had had a chat with the Outer God. Isaac had simply been there… Although he _hadn’t_. It was all blurry, but Isaac had a moment of interaction when Nyarlathotep seemed to recognise him. It was all too complicated, but nothing made sense so far.

Isaac kept telling himself that it was too early, that they did not know enough and that, excepting for some odd dreams, nothing had really happened. _It will all be normal again. It’s just a phase. It’s just stress_.

The beta was suddenly aware that Scott was still there, frozen where he sat, looking at Isaac with his saddest eyes as if he had actually kicked him. Isaac rubbed his eyes and left the cushion aside before approaching Scott carefully, fearing his alpha might flinch away from him just as he had a few moments before.

“’m sorry, Scott,” he said with his eyes down, extending a hand forward which Scott quickly grabbed and squeezed.

He knew he should say something else, but he could not bring himself to do it. When it came to the complex workings of his mind and his feelings, Isaac never managed to find the strength to talk about them. Furthermore, the moment he said anything he would have to admit that _something_ was happening. Something that would inevitably snowball and put an end to Isaac’s peaceful life. _Again_. Just like the alpha pack had shattered his new life as a werewolf. Just like the nogitsune had nipped in the bud his relationship with Allison. Just like Kate Argent had vanquished his hopes for a new beginning with Chris. Just like the fucking _cult_ had destroyed his entire life in France. He would not let some random nightmares and stressful memories destroy his new life with Scott and Melissa in Beacon Hills. No. _Never_. He was ready to lose everything, but he could not lose Scott again.

As Isaac’s head ran through these thoughts, a long-forgotten voice called from the darkest corners of his mind. _It’s all because of you. You bring it upon yourself. You can’t get over last year’s nightmare! You don’t deserve_ any _of this._

Isaac shuddered as he pushed those last thoughts away, although they had already left a mark on his confidence for the future. Isaac’s inner wolf timidly searched for Scott’s, reaching out with his nose and whimpering.

“It’s okay, babe. No harm done. But you need to talk to me. _Please_ ,” the alpha begged when he saw that Isaac was clearly struggling to put his words together.

“It’s just… I mean… I really don’t know, Scott,” Isaac forced himself to admit. He then brought his blue eyes up, looking up at Scott’s brown ones. For a split of a second, nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them being there for each other. The world around might as well have been burning away. But the spell broke. _All this could vanish soon_. Isaac sighed, still not sure of what he wanted to say. “I am… I mean, it is… It’s just something I need to think about. I don’t know... I need some time. Please?”

Scott was not reassured in the slightest, but at least he had got Isaac to admit that there might be something brewing.

“That’s fine,” he forced a smile. “But please just talk to me. Or anyone in the pack. Whenever you’re ready.”

Isaac nodded silently as he closed the gap between him and Scott until they were hugging, the fear that their hugs were already numbered hovering over his head.

“I love you, Scott,” he said as he nuzzled his boyfriend’s neck. That was the only truth Isaac had right then; the one that he would hold on to regardless of what the future would bring.

“I love you too, you stupid beta,” Scott replied as he held the taller werewolf tighter and kissed his curls.

When they broke their embrace, Isaac still would not look at Scott in the eye.

“I’m… er… I’m going for a walk, I think.”

“Oh? Oh… Yeah, sure. It’s almost dinner time, though?” Scott said when he checked his phone. Even if he knew that he had to give Isaac some space, all of his instincts were telling him to do the opposite.

“Could you just leave my plate on the side, please?” Isaac said as he slowly grabbed his keys and put his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” _What was happening?_ Scott was completely lost now – he had never seen Isaac like this before.

“I think I’ll go see Liam. Or Jackson,” Isaac said from the door now, still avoiding’s Scott’s eyes.

“Okay, babe” at least he would go and speak to someone, Scott thought. “Just ring me when you’re coming home?”

“I will,” and with that, Isaac shut the door behind him.

As he strolled down the road, he could hear Chris walking back into the house, and asking Scott about him, but he gritted his teeth and walked away before he could hear anything else.

***

Isaac walked aimlessly through Beacon Hills, and all along the way his head was busy throwing thoughts in every direction, ranging from self-loathing because of the way he had behaved with Scott to full-out fear of the possibility of Nyarlathotep being interested in him. He needed time. That was what Iestyn had suggested, and what he had asked from Scott. Hell, that was even the advice he had given himself and the one he had given Liam about Stiles! But now Isaac was beginning to wonder if time was going to be enough. All of this while wondering if going to sleep at the end of the day was a good option…

When he finally stopped to look at where he was, Isaac found himself in front of an old exposed-brick house – one which happened to be his old family home. Isaac froze with a shiver. The garden was completely abandoned and wild, and the front door boarded, making it even less inviting. Slowly, Isaac backed away until he was on the other side of the road, just in front of the Whittemore house. Jackson’s car was there, but so was Mr Whittemore’s, so Isaac reassessed his plan to sit with Ethan and Jackson. He walked away.

He ended up walking towards the hospital. On his way there, he passed by one of the take away restaurants he knew Melissa liked and he bought sweet and sour chicken with egg fried rice, which was her favourite.

As he walked into the ER entrance he waved at a couple of the nurses and admin staff he knew from visiting Melissa before, and nurse Ramirez quickly pointed Isaac to the coffee room so he could wait for Mrs McCall. After a few minutes she walked in, giving Isaac a tired smile and a quick hug.

“What on Earth are you doing here tonight?” She asked while she kept her arms around his shoulders. Isaac gave her a weak smile as he handed her the bag with the Chinese takeaway dinner. “Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to!”

Melissa loudly kissed his cheek before sitting down and opened the food box.

“It’s for the doughnuts this morning.”

“Oh, wow, someone’s earning brownie points tonight,” she said before she looked at Isaac more calmly and noticing that Isaac was not his usual sassy self. “Oh… you still cranky?”

Isaac shrugged with his hands in his pockets before sitting down. “I don’t know.”

As she pulled him to sit by her side, he began to explain what had happened during the day. Melissa listened carefully without interrupting (she was too busy tucking into the sweet and sour chicken), letting Isaac speak. He did not elaborate much on the dreams, but simply hinted that he was having recurring dreams and that he had pushed Scott away. Isaac did not have to say how bad he felt for that, because Melissa could clearly see.

When he finished talking, she offered him the last chicken ball, which Isaac accepted with a tired chuckle. Melissa told him not to worry too much about Scott, that he loved him and that he would forgive him; and she told him that everyone was entitled to a few off days, and that there was nothing wrong about it. She clearly reinforced Isaac’s theory about his dreams being stress-induced, even if she did not say it in so many words.

A nurse walked into the room, looking for Melissa, and she declared her dinner break over. She thanked Isaac once again for the food and told him not to worry about Scott. They hugged goodbye and Isaac slowly made his way to the exit.

The werewolf felt definitely much calmer now; and although his chat with Melissa had not completely banished his anxiety about what the dreams meant, it was at least bearable. Isaac found himself thinking about how easy everything seemed having Melissa McCall around when his inner wolf sprang to alert. He stopped immediately, and focused on his senses. There was a vaguely familiar smell around the hospital, but it was not comforting and soothing as Melissa’s (and he could sense her presence all over the corridor) – this was an alarming reminder of the previous year. The moment Isaac made that connection, he lost the scent, diluted amongst the fumes of disinfectant and the vague whiffs of blood and pain.

Around him, the night shift continued unaltered: people in scrubs walked up and down the corridor, patients waited sat on chairs. Beds were wheeled around. Isaac shook his head and decided that he had had enough for a day. He just wanted to go back to Scott, to apologise for being moody and to cuddle against his alpha – hopefully without being prodded into giving any further explanations.

Isaac walked out, and wondered if he should ring Scott and ask him to pick him up. Meanwhile, back in the hospital, one person walked around the ward wearing a hidden pendant hanging from their neck. It was a secret and eldritch symbol, older than time, the like of which some people in Beacon Hills would easily recognise with no small amount of fear. The pendant was a perfect silver circle with various straight lines across, which almost (but not quite) formed a star. It was a pendant, in fact, not very dissimilar from the motif that had adorned the carpet of the shunned and now abandoned bookstore on the High street (a carpet which had been ripped and burnt almost a year ago by unknown arsonists). It was also the same symbol that was depicted on the cover of a very particular book – a book bound in human hide that had been stolen from the restricted section of the Bodleian Library in Oxford over a year ago. A book that had last been seen during the evening of the Fourth of July last summer.

***

Isaac was in a dream again. He did not know how it had started, or how he had got there, but he was now clearly dreaming. At least this was a comforting dream, all his day-time worries gone. He was in his safe space – sort of. He was back in his flat in Davis doing the dishes after dinner. But, somehow, the sink was in the bedroom, where his desk usually was.

_God, when will Scott learn not to leave the dirty plates out on the windowsill!_

A loud growl behind him startled him, and he dropped the plate he was rinsing.

“Fuck, you scared me!” Isaac said as he turned around. Behind him, laid on the bed, was a really big wolf. His coat was a brownish grey, and the paws were cream coloured, as if he were wearing socks. The wolf’s face had a darker line running from between his eyes down his muzzle and slightly whiter circles around his deep blue eyes.

“What are you doing out there?” Isaac ask quizzically. He had seen Inner Wolf in dreams some times, but it was still a rare view.

The wolf waggled his tail as he jumped out of the bed and headed towards Isaac.

“Easy there, boy…”

The wolf brought his paws up, so that his front legs were now resting on Isaac’s shoulders. Standing like that, his wolf was slightly taller than him (which Isaac always found slightly scary). Inner Wolf looked down at Isaac and licked his face in the most caring and reassuring way a giant wolf could do.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Stiles?”

“Whoa, is that… like… you know? Is that your wolfie thingie that tugs our bond?” Stiles said as he watched with fascination the wolf that was now curiously studying him. “God, I feel like I interrupted something. Is this you dreaming about yourself? Were you having a—“

“Think very carefully how you want to finish that sentence,” Isaac warned as Inner Wolf looked back at Isaac completely baffled about the yapping human who had dared walk into their home.

“Does _he_ have a name?” Stiles whispered with a broad grin, full of mischievous curiosity.

“What do you want?” Isaac stated dryly. “And why is Liam not around this time?”

“I think he’s not asleep yet,” Stiles replied, as if that explained everything. “Anyways, I need you to come with me.”

“How did you come home?” Isaac asked cautiously.

“I know where you live.”

“But we’re not in Beacon Hills. This is not mum’s—Melissa’s house. This is Davis. You’ve never come to Davis,” Isaac was for some reason very suspicious. Inner Wolf sensed it and stuck his tail straight and his ears up.

“Okay,” Stiles put his hands up. Only then Isaac realised that he was still in his pyjamas. “I don’t really know how I did it, I just followed our pack bond.”

“You can’t sense our pack bond. You’re _human_.”

“I can when I’m asleep,” Stiles said, increasingly frustrated. “Isaac, _please_ , this is the first time I actually try to get into your dream – normally it just… happens. Believe me. But you need to come with me now.”

“Stiles, not even Scott is in here. Ever. It’s always just me and… and my wolf.” _He needs a name… And this is beyond worrying._

“Isaac, please, _trust_ me on this one. We’re pack!” when Stiles invoked their pack connection, Inner Wolf stepped forward and sniffled the human. Stiles slowly kneeled down until he was eye-to-eye with the enormous wolf. In a silent ceremony of mutual recognition, Stiles placed his forehead on the wolf’s, and Isaac immediately felt their connection.

“What-?” Isaac blurted, still unsure of what he had felt through his wolf.

“Please, Isaac, I think this is important,” Stiles insisted and pleaded. After a few seconds’ pause, Isaac dried his hands and nodded.

Before Isaac left the room, Inner Wolf called him down to his level and they nuzzled each other caringly. When Isaac opened his eyes, the wolf had vanished and Isaac felt him inside.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“What’s happening?” Isaac asked as they walked through a dark tunnel illuminated only by the faint glow of distant stars.

“So my dad has built an extension in the back, but it has gone very wrong.”

“Stiles, I’m not a builder.”

“I know, and it’s not that,” Stiles explained as they took a turn and, through a door, entered into the Stilinski’s living room. “Look, come over.”

Isaac followed until they got to the kitchen and Stiles led him to the garden. Right there, as promised, Isaac could see Sheriff Stilinski shovelling something into a concrete mixer, but it was as if he could not see Isaac at all.

“What’s your dad doing?” Isaac asked again.

“Building this extension, but look carefully…” Stiles pointed to the far side of the half-built building.

While the part that was built against the house was made of bricks and mortar, as the building extended further and further away it morphed into a timber structure, and then into a log cabin. A few hundred yards away, Isaac could see that the extension turned into a wooden-floor terrace with a veranda.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Stiles,” Isaac concluded.

“Check the far side…” Stiles insisted with a nervous voice.

Carefully, Isaac advanced to the end of the building until he _saw_. The timber-framed terrace was hanging dangerously over a great chasm, an abyss that descended to the nethermost pit of the underworld, and it was _dark_. Lying flat on the wooden deck, Isaac dared look over the edge, and down into the bottomless shaft.

“Stiles, what’s—“

“Quiet,” Stiles shushed his friend. “Listen…”

Isaac could not hear anything, but he could see that Stiles was really worried. True, a massive hole undermining your house was unsettling, and there were many ways such a dream could be interpreted, but—

_Isaac!_

“You hear that?” Stiles whispered, pointing down into the abyss.

“Er….”

_Isaac!_

“Please tell me you hear that,” Stiles frantically insisted, still in a hushed tone.

_Isaac!_

Isaac looked over the edge again, and this time he could _see_ that at the very bottom there was more than darkness. There were four tiny specks of light. Orange light. Like four tiny distant fires. And framed between two of those he could clearly see the shape of two enormous gates, shut and barred. A shiver ran down Isaac’s spine, and his eyes opened wide in surprise – but he could not stare away…

“Stiles… I’ve seen… I mean. I think I have…” Isaac failed to explain as he tried to summon a memory.

_Isaac!_

“Isaac, they’re calling for you,” Stiles whispered as he came closer to his friend. “I’m sorry I brought you here, but you needed to believe me… And now that you do, we need to _go_.”

“No, wait,” Isaac said as he grabbed Stiles’ wrist, keeping him in place, flat against the boards. “That voice…”

“Isaac, are you insane? Do not listen to it,” Stiles was clearly panicking now.

“No, Stiles, you don’t understand… I think I _know_ that voice?”


	10. A beta's worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His first thought was about Stiles. Stiles who appeared in his dreams as if he knew what was happening. What was all that about? He and Isaac were usually happy for those dreams simply to happen; but Stiles was insane enough to dictate the course of the dream.
> 
> OR: Liam is worried about the weird dreams he's also been having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a 'spot the hidden sterek' game

Liam opened his eyes and was relieved to see that he was still in his bedroom. Blue walls, white ceiling, windows right and left. It was _definitely_ his bedroom. He was certainly awake. He quickly looked up to his headboard and saw the orca whale plushie that Malia had won for him during the spring break road trip they did to Santa Barbara to visit Mason and Corey. He brought the whale down to his chest and started petting it mindlessly as he tried to put his thoughts in order and stared blankly at the ceiling.

The last thing he remembered was jumping against the zebra warrior that had been hunting them in that paradise-looking village. The knight then clobbered him on the head and everything went black. Normally that was the point when he woke up, according to his previous dream-time experience, but it did not happen like that this time. This time, after the blackness came a fall and, after the fall, a hall full of columns expanding infinitely in all directions, with Isaac’s voice calling for him somewhere in that enormity. His friend sounded more than frightened, and Liam remembered his chest aching because he could not help his packmate, but Liam was lost in the almost complete darkness of the pillared hall and never found him.

It did not matter in which direction he ran, the forest of columns was seemingly infinite, and Isaac’s calling made it so much worse, because all of his instincts told him that his packmate was utterly and completely terrified, his calls almost a sob. Liam tried to howl and tried to locate Isaac, but nothing worked. And still Isaac’s voice kept echoing across the piers… until he found two large black gates. The gates were massive, their size proportionate to the pillars that surrounded it. Liam felt a pull towards it, an invisible tug he could not explain and that he did not want to fight, creepy as it was. But Liam only managed to get within an inch of the polished surface of the gate before the ground below him gave way.

 _Then_ he woke up for good.

Liam brought the orca toy up to eye level, his arms extended up above his head. The plushie was a realistic depiction of a whale rather than a cartoon-like toy, which made it even weirder when Liam thought that it had given him a sympathetic look, as if apologising because it could not give him the answer he needed. _What the fuck is going on?_ Migaloo the whale remained silent. Liam’s brow furrowed.

Strange dreams were not a new thing for the beta. In fact, Liam had a long history of very vivid dreams, but these were usually limited to flashbacks and re-visualisations of an IED episode (episodes and vivid dreams were definitely connected, his therapist had told him). In his years as a werewolf, however, the number of outbursts had diminished in proportion to his increasing self-control, and he had not had one in _months_. Liam had also had very odd dreams during the first weeks after being bitten by Scott. Traumatic experience-fuelled nightmares aside, those dreams had been mostly Liam’s subconscious meeting and interacting with his inner wolf. Even those were long gone.

But these recent dreams had nothing to do with either of those types, so Liam could not blame Scott or his IED for them. These dreams were far more convoluted, and involved Isaac and Stiles dragging him into weird adventures that only made sense because he was certain that he was sleeping. Furthermore, the level of control and decision making he had while he dreamt during those dreams was scary. He should not be able to produce coins magically from his pocket simply because he needed them to pay for their meal. And what was with the matching shirts he and Isaac always wore?

Migaloo did not have an answer for that one either. Liam huffed.

Next door, Liam’s parents’ alarm clock went off, and the werewolf rolled his eyes in despair. 7:30 am during the summer holidays and he was already up? After a loud growl, he dropped the whale carelessly on the mattress and wrapped himself in the sheets, wishing that his patented Linen Burrito of Isolation had become magical overnight.

Inevitably, his mother opened the door a few minutes later.

“I know you’re up, darling,” she said from the door, her voice easily breaching through the sonic defences of the Linen Burrito of Isolation. “You promised you’d finish the path today. Better do it before it gets too hot outside.”

A frustrated growl came from the bundle of bedsheets in response.

“Come on Liam, don’t make me drag you out of bed, because I _will_ ,” his mother threatened. Liam heard her turn around and walk down the corridor before she shouted “five more minutes, Liam! Come on, you promised!”

After a quick and excessively sugary breakfast (an old habit that living independently in college had nothing but reinforced), Liam was outside in the front yard re-paving the path, setting a new layer of gravel and setting firmly into place the terracotta tiles that his mother had bought. Why he had volunteered to do this was beyond him, but, at least, arranging the large heavy tiles gave him the chance to think.

His first thought was about Stiles. Stiles who appeared in his dreams as if he knew what was happening. What was all that about? He and Isaac were usually happy for those dreams simply to happen; but Stiles was insane enough to dictate the course of the dream. This contrasted sharply with the Stiles he saw during the day, who had been more fidgety than his usual self and more talkative, as if he were trying to compensate for the fact that he would rather be quiet (which for him would be very telling). Liam had his suspicions already when he bumped into him and Lydia in the mall the other day. Lydia might have been too focused on what a killer outfit in Europe would be to notice what a bundle of nerves his boyfriend had become, but Liam had. Mostly because he could smell it on him. The beta’s suspicions grew more concrete and solid after seeing him at Jackson’s barbeque, when he decided that maybe he should do something about his friend.

So far, he had only mentioned this to Isaac. A few months ago, Liam would have been surprised at his current choice but, after that eventful trip to Montana, he and Isaac had become close friends. Usually he would have gone to Mason, but he would get overexcited about his mere suspicion and Liam was not in the mood for that right then. His next option would have naturally been Scott or Stiles, but even if Stiles was his friend, he could not confide with him on this particular issue. And Scott was his alpha, the closest thing he had to an older brother he had ever have, but perhaps too much of an imposing figure of authority to go to for this kind of things. Isaac was his next logical point of call.

Liam and Isaac had discussed the possibility that Stiles was behaving like he was because of the anniversary of the Beacon Hills Great Cultic Festival of ‘19, and that they should give him some more time, which all sounded great and sensible. _But how much time? What if the dreams get worse? What if Nyarlathotep is actually behind all this? Why has he chosen me?_ _What if this is a degeneration of IED and I am really going insane? – And what about Stiles?_ Liam asked himself once he realised he was projecting his own fears on Stiles.

His train of thought completely derailed, the werewolf stood up and dried the sweat off his forehead with his t-shirt, thinking that it was being quite hot for northern California summers. He turned around to grab another tile to fit into place, but he realised that he was done. Liam checked the time and sighed in relief – even better: it was earlier than he thought. He then emptied the watering can on the newly laid flags to help them set and headed back inside.

Liam spent the rest of the morning reading his book, finishing it just before lunch. He was not sure of how, but Isaac had bullied him into reading a long list of ‘classic’ science fiction novels. At first Liam had been unimpressed, but now he secretly enjoyed his nerd awakening. A few hours of reading his book gave Liam a chance to keep his mind off the dream vortex of doom. To be fair, there had been many other things troubling him during the last months, and yet the bat-shit crazy of the last week had toppled them from his list of concerns.

One of them was his degree. He was originally majoring in anthropology, but after a year of it he was not sure if he wanted to continue with that course. Stiles and Mason had been telling him that it was ok, that he could always change majors, but the main problem Liam had was that he did not know what else he could do. To make things worse, he was in Denver with a full lacrosse scholarship and he did not want to throw his opportunity away. That was another thing: he knew he had earned the scholarship (he had been good enough for it even before the bite), but at times he wondered if he had only got it because of his supernatural abilities. The doubt gnawed at him, and made him reconsider if he should really be going to college after all. Liam preferred not to think about the future whatsoever, because if he was unsure about college degrees he was completely lost when it came to career options.

The thing was that, as a life experience, he was _enjoying_ life in college. He liked the independence he had: he liked eating cold pizza for breakfast and toast for dinner, and nobody told him off if he had ramen five times a week. In fact, Denver was a great city even if the college cafeteria was kind of gross (but Liam repeated to himself that not everything could be perfect). He had a great group of friends from his course and he also had all of his lacrosse teammates, so Liam could not really complain. There was also this one girl called Sofia, whom he would like to get to know better. They were in a few classes together and they were in the same group of friends (he always tried to sit by her whenever they all went out), but he had not done anything else just yet. Mason knew about her, and so did a few of his lacrosse friends, but he was not in a million years going to let Stiles or Isaac know. The grilling would be epically never-ending.

It was odd to have an entire group of friends who were not involved in the supernatural. It was refreshing and gave Liam a sensation of normalcy that was so different from what he felt being back with the pack. Being back in Beacon Hills was great, because he needed quality pack time, but it was refreshing to have supernatural time off. At first, however, he had been worried about losing control and wolfing out, and during the first full moons he spent in Denver Liam had been very close to driving back to Beacon Hills for a couple of days. But he had improved a lot in terms of control (especially ever since Isaac taught him about sharing through their pack bonds).

***

Later that day Liam had lunch with his mum. He listened carefully to all the details of how well her shop was going, even despite her complaints about the new shop assistant Karla, who was apparently ‘a useless cow’. He dutifully nodded and smiled when it became necessary, but Mrs Dunbar was too focused on her phone to notice that Liam was being moody. Liam offered to do the dishes and his mother went off to work after kissing her son goodbye.

Back in his room, and staring out through the window, Liam’s brain was busy again going through his recent odd dreams, trying to make any sense out of them. He could remember having a conversation about Isaac’s exam, walking into their old high school in full lacrosse gear (which was weird enough), but the first time something clicked as unusual was when Stiles and Isaac barged into his dream and he had to tell them to stop. They were surprised when he told them that they were in _his_ dream, which did not make any sense, but they behaved as if _he_ was the one speaking nonsense. Why would they do that? If it had been his own dream, what did it mean? How insane was he? Was his IED getting worse? Werewolf healing was good for physical harm, but psychological damage was a completely different thing. Peter Hale was a sombre proof.

There was, of course, a more unsettling option: that it had not been _his_ dream after all… Liam shuddered, trying to unthink that idea.

Liam looked for his phone and rang Isaac, hoping he could have a quiet chat with him in the preserve again, but the other beta would not answer. He tried ringing two more times, with the same result. _What could Isaac possibly be doing?_ Liam pondered for a second if he should tug their pack bond, just like Isaac had taught him how to do, but before doing it, he wondered for a second if Scott was off that day as well. Because if he were (and he probably was, now that he thought about it), it meant that Scott would be home. With Isaac. Doing Scott and Isaac things… Liam shuddered again. Once he _almost_ walked into his alpha making out with his boyfriend and that had scarred him for life, to Isaac’s general amusement.

So Liam decided to let them be, even if he really wanted to talk to Isaac. He really wanted to talk to _anyone_ , to be honest, if it kept his mind from wondering about his dreams and churning ideas that only gave him daytime nightmares. If he stayed home, mulling over and over, he would go insane. Isaac had said to give it a few days. Perhaps once the anniversary was far enough the dreams would stop. But right then he needed _out_.

<Liam> [to Pack!] 07/07/2020 14:21

Anyone fancy doing anything today?

Soon after, he got a torrent of responses from almost everyone. Isaac and Stiles were notorious for their absence, but Scott did reply saying that they were staying in (surprise surprise), while Lydia excused herself with something about research. Ethan and Jackson could only do later in the evening, which left Mason and Malia, both of which were free. Derek had (again) exited the group chat. They agreed to meet at their favourite ice-cream parlour, and fifteen minutes later Liam was ready and on his way.

When he got there, Liam saw that he was the last one to arrive, and that Mason and Malia had ordered the largest sundae on the menu, which had an odd combination of peaches and strawberries and ice-creams of various types, all topped with actual cookies and cream.

“You two are insane,” Liam said when he sat down. “Have you seen the size of that?”

“Come on,” Mason invited him over with a big smile and a mouth full of ice-cream. “If we finish it they’ll put our picture on the wall.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nuh-huh. Here’s your spoon,” Malia instructed. “Tuck in.”

As the three of them devoured the dessert mountain of doom, Liam’s worries about his dreams and his sanity subsided. Malia was more than happy to talk about her life as a sheriff deputy, telling how Stiles’s dad was actually quite fun to work with and how Parrish had a coffee mug he would not let anyone use, which Mason found hilarious. She had a lot of complaints about paperwork (there was too much of it) and about the local residents of Beacon Hills, who apparently came only in two categories when it came to ringing the Sheriff: either complete nutcases or shady-creepy. The latter usually reporting about the former.

To Liam’s great surprise, they managed to eat almost all of the massive tub of ice-cream, but their effort was not good enough for the waiter, who told them that they did not qualify for a picture on the Wall of Honour.

“So, how’s Corey anyways,” Malia asked with her usual lack of tactfulness. Liam froze in his seat as he sensed Mason deflate.

While his friend sighed with his head low, Liam gave Malia a very concise and explicit silent rant, to which the werecoyote simply replied with an eye roll and a muted ‘it’s been _months_!’

“Guys, it’s all right,” Mason sighed. “I don’t mind, honestly. I might as well explain this now.”

Liam knew the story, but he had not told anyone the details – only the basic idea, and this was the first time Mason himself explained what had happened. Things had started to go pear shaped a year before, during the cult crisis, when Corey made it very clear that he did not want anything to do with the pack; that despite their reassurances, he did not want to be involved with the supernatural anymore. He told Mason that he was tired of the almost constant state of alert life in the pack involved. With the benefit of hindsight, Mason could understand why, but that did not make it any less painful. Life in Beacon Hills had not been that great for Corey, even before he came across the Dread Doctors, so moving to Santa Barbara with Mason had opened for him a whole new world away from supernatural emergencies.

Scott had been understanding, and had been very adamant that nobody was in the pack unwillingly, so Corey cut all ties with them soon after the summer. During the next months, it became clear to Mason that Corey’s reticence was not only towards the pack but towards his boyfriend as well. And while it is true that at no point did Corey force Mason to choose between him and the pack, the strain in their relationship came mostly from that predicament. At least (Mason conceded), Corey had the decency of breaking up before any of them did anything they would regret.

When Mason finished his story, Liam (who was sitting by his side) gave him a comforting hug, while Malia extended her hands to hold Mason’s. The moment was ruined when their three phones beeped in unison. Jackson and Ethan were heading to one of the pizza places down in town, and were asking if they would come and meet them there. Even if they were not particularly hungry, and with the flimsy excuse that Mason needed some fresh air, they agreed. They paid for their mountain of ice-cream and they went to meet the couple.

During the rest of the evening Liam forgot all about his dreams, about Stiles, and about the potential for Nyarlathotep-related doom. They told Jackson and Ethan the Mason and Corey story and even if the werewolves were only partly joking, they swore oaths of revenge if Mason ever wanted to take their offer, which their human friend graciously declined. The evening soon spiralled down, and Liam found himself in a never-ending conversation about guys: who was fitter, who was taller, whom should Mason go for, and whom should he avoid. Liam had no problem with that (he tended to forget how unusual the straight-to-gay ratio in the pack was) and he loved all of his friends to bits, but at one point he had to beg them to stop because he could not listen to any more of that.

“Well, tonight you’re our token straight boy, Liam,” Ethan said with a smirk. “So tough.”

Everyone chuckled (especially Malia and Mason), and Liam could only roll his eyes. Ethan leant over to bring him into a side hug, which Liam only jokingly shrugged off, and then they changed topic.

“So, if you don’t want to talk boys, let’s talk girls,” Jackson exclaimed with a wolfish grin. Liam immediately felt a cold sweat forming when he heard the former kanima ask aloud, “so, Liam, tell us about the girls in Denver.”

Liam froze and mumbled some unintelligible gibberish as he shrugged while Mason discretely sipped from his drink. Malia quickly noticed and, with an accusatory finger, she pointed at Mason.

“Mason knows something!”

“What? No, I don’t…” Mason lied badly.

“We need names,” Ethan quickly jumped as he threw an arm around Liam’s shoulders.

Flustered, Liam looked around and he knew he had no way of stopping his packmates. With a resigned sigh he begged, “okay… but please don’t tell anyone yet.”

They stayed there for much longer than they had expected, discussing Sofia and, once Liam had been sufficiently embarrassed, old anecdotes of Ethan and Jackson back in England. When Liam finally got home later that night, he was truly happy. He had had a great evening with his friends, his needs for pack had been sufficiently satiated, and he had helped Mason finally and definitely move on. He picked Migaloo the whale and placed it on his headboard. He brushed his teeth and put his pyjamas on before jumping into bed. Perhaps (and only perhaps) that would give him a good night’s sleep.

***

As Liam’s blurry and sleepy memory of brushing his teeth disappeared, the beta found himself walking into a ticket office with Mason.

“Have you got your ticket?” Mason asked. His friend was wearing a plain green t-shit and a check overshirt with shorts and walking boots.

The ticket office was brightly illuminated. There were souvenirs and guidebooks for sale around them. They were at the front of the line, with the queue going to the door and beyond behind them. Liam could see people waiting outside, getting wet in the rain.

“Er… tickets for what?” Liam asked, not really knowing what Mason was on about. The werewolf looked down at himself as he patted his pockets, looking for any sort of ticket. He was wearing jeans, boat shoes, and a red polo shirt. “I can’t find any tickets?” ( _And where did those shoes come from?_ )

“You’re incredible!” Mason chuckled. “The _one_ thing you needed to remember! Gee… That’s ok, we’ll find out if you need it.”

Mason stepped out of the queue and made a beeline to the front of the line, Liam close behind him, looking around in shame for their blatant queue-jumping. Mason did not seem to care. At the desk, Mason asked the man behind the counter if he had Liam’s ticket, and the man said he would check. With a swift movement, the man pulled out a large ledger full of names and dates and slammed it on the counter.

“Mason… Where are we?” Liam asked Mason in hushed tones while the man searched for Liam’s name.

“We came to visit Isaac in France, don’t you remember?” Mason asked, ducking his head. “You insisted we needed to come and visit him, so we came over.”

“Wait—we’re in _France_?”

“Duh, yeah?”

“But Isaac moved back to Beacon Hills!” Liam was confused.

“Yeah, but he couldn’t bring back his castle, could he?”

“This is his _what_?”

“Ah, here!” the man behind the desk said, pointing a name at the bottom of the page. “’Mr Liam Dunbar, of Scott McCall’s pack in Beacon Hills California. Werewolf (beta)’. Is that you?”

Liam nodded as he silently pulled his passport out of his pocket and handed it over. The man at the desk frowned ever so slightly and returned it after it had been stamped. With the click of a button, the guard opened the castle gate, letting the two friends walk in.

When they crossed the gate, a bright sun blinded them for a second. The rusty hinges of the gate squeaked behind them, and Liam realised that they were alone in that sun-baked, dry and dusty castle courtyard. Mason searched for a guidebook in his backpack while Liam looked around.

“Where’s the rain gone?” Liam scratched his head.

“Dunno. Ask Isaac. This is his castle after all,” Mason shrugged his shoulders as he kept looking for the book in his bag.

“Well, Isaac isn’t here, is he? And how are we going to enter the castle?”

“We’re already _in_ , Liam,” Mason rolled his eyes.

That was true. They were inside the castle courtyard. But around them there were no doors or windows into the walls or towers. There were no other buildings. They stood alone in the centre of a dusty yard, surrounded by crumbling old walls on six sides.

“What is there to see here?” Liam asked, not very thrilled about the castle.

“Isaac’s castle, of course!” Mason insisted, still looking for that goddamned guidebook.

Liam walked around, looking not only for a way into the castle or anything interesting to _see_ , but also for a way _out_. There were a couple of dried trees in a corner, and a well-head which had been boarded shut. Liam ripped the planks away, but the well was dry. The beta walked around the castle three times finding nothing. In all that time, Mason still had not found the guidebook either.

“Are we sure this is Isaac’s castle? He never mentioned having one…” Liam kicked a rock.

“Just let me find that book,” Mason begged for a second. Liam just huffed and rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked from a bench in the corner. He had the sleeves of his dark green shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was also wearing brown shorts and blue canvas shoes.

“It’s just Mason trying to find his book,” Liam moaned as he sat by the other werewolf’s side. “We need it to see this castle. Didn’t know you were visiting Isaac as well?”

“Yeah well. He was always my best beta,” Derek explained fondly. “I need to take care of him. Also, it seem he’s going to be busy for a while,” the older wolf asked, nodding at Mason but with his elbows resting on the back of the bench. “Shall we get a drink?”

“Yeah, go on,” Liam nodded. “I could do with something cold.”

“Great!” Derek said with a grin as he stood up. “I know where we can get a drink.”

“What about Mason?” Liam asked, looking at their friend, still fishing through his backpack.

“He’ll be fine,” Derek said opening the glass door of the ice-cream shop. “He’s not going anywhere. Yet.”

Liam looked at Derek and then back at Mason, before nodding and going downhill towards the glass door. Once inside, Derek walked to the bar and asked for two somethings. Liam guessed that he had asked in French, because he did not understand what his friend had just said.

“Here you go,” Derek said, handing Liam a massive glass of lemonade. Liam thanked him as they sat on one of the stools by the bar because the rest of the bar seemed full.

Only then did Liam realise that they were wearing matching Beacon Hills Cyclones letterman jackets.

“You never played lacrosse.”

“But I was in the basketball team. You’re wearing one of the old-style basketball varsity jackets, by the way,” Derek replied smugly.

“No way!” Liam looked down with his mouth open when suddenly two familiar faces popped up from behind the bar.

“Liam!” both voices called in unison.

Stiles and Isaac were standing behind the bar in ice-cream shop uniforms.

“Whoa, what’s wrong with you two now?” Liam asked in surprise. It was not like Isaac to be that certain of things in his dreams. Stiles had been assertive and focused before, but Isaac had always been as reluctant to accept his dreamy surroundings as Liam. Now they were both clearly in a hurry. “And- and- and how did you get _there_?”

“No time for that. Just come along,” Stiles instructed nervously, waving his hand, clearly telling Liam to go with them. That was clearly a man on a mission. “Hey, Derek,” he added casually.

“Hey you,” Derek replied with the most confident smile and the sweetest tone he could muster. Stiles had only seen him like that once (trying to distract the deputy at the sheriff station so Stiles could sneak in during the kanima crisis) and was not impressed.

“Yeah, right. In _your_ dreams, Hale,” Stiles dismissed the older werewolf as Isaac supressed a giggle. “Come on, Liam, we’re in a hurry.”

“But wait, what? No! What about Mason? He’s still out in your castle…” Liam cocked his head for a second and looked at Isaac. “Since when do _you_ have a castle?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I hate to agree with Stiles, but let’s get moving, Liam,” Isaac said with a worried face as his friend glared at him in disbelief. “We need to go. _Now_.”

Before Liam could protest again, Isaac and Stiles had grabbed him by the jacket and drawn him over the counter.

Behind the counter, rather than on cold tiles, Liam fell through a never-ending dark void.

***

As he fell, Liam had some time to explore the void, which did not take much. It was dark and cold, and empty of everything – even of light, so he could not see anything at all. At the very bottom, however, he could half-see, half-guess a small glistening of orange lights far, far away. Before he could ponder much about it, a hand grabbed him by the collar and drew him out with a bright green flash.

The next thing he could see was an incredibly bright sun and sand dunes all around him.

“What on Earth was _that_?” he asked to no one in particular.

“That?” A figure asked as it dusted its hands. “I don’t know. It’s some sort of void. We don’t know yet.”

“Stiles?”

Liam turned around to see Stiles talking to him. He was wearing the most bizarre outfit ever. He was in a dark and tight suit that covered all his body. It was a sum of layers of leather or rubber, but in a cool, rugged and adventurous way. He was also wearing a hood and a scarf across his face, and something like a breathing tube over his nose.

“Yeah. Welcome to Arrakis!”

“ _Dude_ , we agreed that was my line!” another voice complained. Liam knew it was Isaac, who soon appeared from behind the nearest dune wearing the same outfit.

“Wait, wait. Arrakis?” Liam rose his hands, demanding a second, only to see that he was also wearing the same suit as his two friends. “We’re in _Dune_?”

“And I told you we all knew about this place,” Isaac said with a smug grin, gently punching Stiles’s shoulder. “I told him to read it.”

“Okay, you nerds: I am going to need a real explanation, and I’m going to need it now,” Liam demanded with finality. “Why are we in _Dune_? No, scrap that. What’s got into you two?”

“Well, I always wanted to visit it, really,” Isaac said with his hands on his hips and looking around, admiring the desert around them. Liam glared and growled at him.

“Ignore him. We’re in _Dune_ because your friend is a surprising geek, of the kind I would have never suspected, but I am always pleasantly surprised,” Stiles explained.

“Also, it is a secluded, secret, and hidden place which is also familiar to all three of us,” Isaac added. “So here it is very unlikely that we will be overheard, or interrupted.”

“Do you remember how we have coincided in other dreams in the school changing room, or in my dad’s place?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Liam agreed, but not yet convinced, though. “But we’ve also been together in a diner, and a forest—And what’s this about ‘coinciding in dreams’ you’re talking about?“

“We _all_ have an idea of a ‘forest’,” Stiles interrupted, emphasising the air quotes.

“And what about the village tavern with the badass zebra warrior?” Liam insisted.

Stiles fell silent for a second, and looked at Isaac, who shrug his shoulders. “That’s something different,” Stiles dismissed quickly.

“We’re still working on that,” Isaac added, and Stiles gave him a death stare.

“You two are insane. Why do you know about my dreams? No, ignore that. Why are _you_ in my dream?” Liam was feeling a headache forming. None of that made sense, even for a dream. He should really re-consider what he has for dinner or maybe go back to therapy.

Stiles and Isaac looked at each other nervously, none of them really wanting to answer that question.

“I think,” Stiles began, but keeping his eyes on Isaac, who slowly nodded in confirmation. “That maybe we are in a… um… erm…”

“A dream loop,” Isaac helped.

“A _shared_ dream loop.” Stiles made slow and wide circles with his hands, clearly meaning that the three of them were involved. Isaac nodded, his arms folded over his chest.

Liam looked at his two friends with narrowed eyes. “Ok,” he nodded slowly. “Please elaborate?”

Isaac turned slowly to look at Stiles, still arms crossed.

“Yep, I can,” Stiles nodded emphatically, his hands on his hips, which Liam interpreted as Stiles not having a clear idea yet.

“Can we get out of the sun though?” Isaac asked, nonplussed.

“You’re the one who chose this frigging planet to have our meeting!” Stiles shouted in disbelief.

“Yeah, only because I thought you were _insane_ and I never expected it to work,” Isaac stated calmly as he pulled the scarf tighter over his head. “Come on, I know where there is a cave.”

Stiles offered Liam a hand to pull him up, and the werewolf accepted. They then hurried after Isaac, who had walked to the far side of the dune, where a rocky outcrop emerged through the surface of the sands. There, in one of the dark crevices that cracked the boulders, Isaac led them to a circular membrane that opened to reveal a locked chamber and, beyond, a spacious cave with a deep pool of water.

“Oh, I remember this from the book,” Liam said as they were inside. “This is where the fremen live.”

“I know, right? Isn’t it cool?” Isaac said with a dopey smile.

“Although I’m sure they did not have sofas and coffee tables in the caves,” Liam pointed out the living room furniture that was on a corner of the cave. There was even a potted plant by the side of the cream-coloured sofa.

“Yeah, well,” Stiles said as he collapsed on the strangely familiar couch. “I needed somewhere comfortable to collapse, and only scarfwolf here could dream of a desert planet as our secret meeting point.”

“Wait,” Liam stopped, his thoughts suddenly returning to the big elephant in the room. “You have dreamt this? You are _dreaming_ this?” he pointed at Isaac. “Whose dream is this?”

“Dream loop, Liam. Dream _loop_. Catch up. We told you already,” Stiles said from the couch. Now that Liam thought about it, that was the sofa he remembered from the Stilinski’s living room.

“But you’ve dreamt that?” Liam said, pointing at the living room.

“Yes, I might have; though I’m not sure of how it works,” Stiles huffed as he massaged his temples.

“Ok, are you two going to explain this now?” Liam begged, sounding tired.

Isaac looked at Stiles, who nervously looked back at Isaac. Stiles leant forward and began to bite his thumb while his knee bounced nervously, now deep in thought. Liam looked at Isaac with his palms extended to his sides.

The taller werewolf sighed and shook his head before answering.

“Have you in your recent dreams come across the Black Gates?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on Liam's perspective? I thoght he deserved some more attention in this story. Also, anything that isn't clear about his dreams should come clearer next chapter, when we'll have a look at Stiles.
> 
> Also, sorry if Corey looks like a prick in this chapter, but that's Mason's side of the story!
> 
> All comments welcome!


	11. A glimpse into the depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac fell silent and with a stern face, thinking carefully about what Stiles had just said. He remained like this for a few seconds, making Stiles anxious. Only when Stiles was about to burst with impatience, Isaac spoke.  
> “So how do we get Liam?”  
> “Oh, well… we need to get into his dream and… erm… bring him to our loop?” Stiles guessed.  
> “And how do we do that? How did you come into my dream?”
> 
> OR: Stiles thinks carefully about his dreams, and pulls somme threads that reveal perhaps too much...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Stiles' POV, which hopefully brings together the loose ends of Isaac's and Liam's previous chapters

The weeks before the Fourth of July were not good for Stiles. Despite all the excitement of going back to Beacon Hills, being on holidays, and seeing his dad and the rest of the pack, there was something else nagging at him. Actually, I was not just one: there were a _number_ of issues that kept his mind revving all of his waking hours. The _waking_ component being key to Stiles’ current concerns.

Firstly, there was the fact that his dad was dating his girlfriend’s mother. While Natalie was a wonderful woman and Stiles really shipped the two of them, her long-term reticence to fully accept the supernatural kept her largely on the side of all pack business. That was not bad in itself, but that was not the point though. The slight problem was that then Lydia, her girlfriend for many years, could legally become his sister if they decided to take their relationship further. Well… his stepsister. _But sister nonetheless_. Stiles was worried that there might be some odd Freudian term to define what their relationship could become, but Lydia told him to stop worrying about it. A) because that same conundrum was not stopping Scott and Isaac. And b) because Freud was himself a very troubled man, that his psychoanalytic theories were largely outdated, and that Stiles would be better off keeping Carl Jung as his go-to classic psychologist. Stiles acknowledged this and tried not to bring it up often because Lydia was _seriously_ fed up with that line of thought. But Stiles was Stiles, and he could not help it.

Anyways, that was more of an academic concern than a real one. His second issue was Lydia going off to Europe every now and then. Ever since she got into the combined graduate course between the MIT and Cambridge University in England, she had spent four months in England, leaving Stiles home alone in Boston. She was there only three or four weeks at a time, but during those days his life was miserable. He had never thought that he would be so needy and dependant. After all, he had lived without Lydia for years, but ever since they moved in together in Boston it had been different. It had been so easy for him to slip into a routine where she was there all the time that now, every time she flew off, it felt as if a limb was cut off him. He was not jealous or worried, and he knew that she was living with Ethan and Jackson, which put him at great ease; his big problem was that he was now, on a regular basis and for extended periods, alone in their apartment. Lydia’s course was going to go on like that for one more year, and Stiles was dreading it. Thankfully they were spending the summer together.

There was, last but not least, his dreams. Very odd, very vivid, and very specific dreams –almost as if they were an alternative reality- that had been plaguing his nights. These dreams came every now and then during the winter, but as the summer approached these had become more recurrent. Of course, Stiles unconsciously made the connection between these peculiar dreams of his and his… ‘episode’ with the nogitsune, which made him shudder every time the thought crossed his mind. Only applying cold logic he managed to push his unfounded fear of a return of the nogitsune. The Argents had killed that evil spirit for good, diluting its power into the French nemeton, as Isaac had reassured him _many_ times. Moreover, the nogitsune had controlled his dreams back then, while now he was in full control of his dreams. Well… mostly. The constant presence of Liam and Isaac doing weird stuff in said dreams was disconcerting anyways, because they were beyond his control, undermining his theory.

What Stiles feared the most was that if these dreams were not linked to the nogitsune they might be related to something worse, and in the back of Stiles’ mind there was the soul-chilling dread that all this was somehow connected to his encounter with Nyarlathotep, the God of the Thousand Masks. During last summer, when he did his emergency research about the Mi-Go cult that had taken over Isaac’s town in France, he read a little about Nyarlathotep, but that was enough to know that the Outer God enjoyed messing with the dreams of mortals, especially when it helped his unfathomable plans. Considering that Stiles himself had a very close encounter with the Outer God, he was terrified by the possibility that he had been marked. When his weird dreams became more frequent, especially around the anniversary of his meeting with Nyarlathotep, the possibility became more likely, and Stiles began to panic.

Whenever he woke up from those dreams, Stiles’ mind could not focus on anything else. Fascinated and terrified in equal measures, these dreams represented a puzzle that he needed to solve. They posed a problem that really appealed to his inquisitive side. During those moments when he was positively interested, he thought and wondered about the nature of dreams and what they could mean (especially what the recurrent appearances of Liam and Isaac rather than Lydia or Scott meant). When he was more frightened than curious, his sole focus was to find out if those dreams had a purpose.

That was why his mind drifted usually away that summer, formulating theories of what could possibly be happening. After all, there were too many questions bugging him, too many variables to consider, and that distracted him from everything else. Too many pieces to that puzzle, and he still needed to find an edge or a corner. But Stiles being Stiles, he was way ahead of himself, and he knew that if he focused too much on this, Lydia and his dad would eventually notice and get involved, and he did not want to trouble them with his problems. At least not until he had a solution, or at least either an explanation or a working theory. So rather than allowing himself to fall silent and lost in thought, he had forced himself to be active and social. He just needed to keep up that façade only for a few days – only until he had a clear idea.

***

Stiles managed to keep his extra anxieties quiet for a few days – which was all he needed. Lydia had had no banshee-related premonitions in a very long while and this, combined with her concentration on her graduate research project, meant that she hardly took notice of Stiles’ forced ‘normal’ behaviour. Scott was just happy to be back with all the pack, and if he noticed anything off with his friend, he did not mention anything – and the same went for the rest of the pack. His dad and Natalie, similarly, were too busy enjoying their first summer together and were too happy to let Stiles be. Only Liam had looked at him funny that day he bumped into Stiles and Lydia in the mall. The beta had not said much at least – not while they were both awake. So for a few days he was able to conduct his independent research into the occult side of dreams.

Beacon Hills did not have an extensive research library, and the one bookshop that could have had any relevant literature was closed for good (not that Stiles could have been forced to step back in there – not for all the tea in China). This meant that Stiles had to make do with unreliable internet stuff and the few things he could consult through his remote university access for his enquiries. The only piece of apparently trustworthy information came from a series of stories written in the 1930s by a Randolph Carter, which all the recent occult literature about dreams praised as ‘useful’. Stiles found (eventually) an electronic version of those stories, and he downloaded them to his e-book reader, only to find that they were largely this Carter’s person dreams and nightmares turned fiction.

Despite this unpromising start, Stiles learnt a lot about a side of dreams and dreaming that neither Freud nor Lydia’s favourite Carl Jung had explained: that there was a chance that, within the world of dreams, existed an alternative reality, a different world beyond our senses where things were not quite what they were in the woken world. This, of course, sounded like hippy nonsense, but at least Stiles by now knew better than to reject it upfront (especially because he had had an encounter with an Outer God himself).

Falling asleep and dreaming was not the way into the Dreamlands was the first thing he learnt. Granted, if you fell asleep and you dreamed, then you would be in a world created by your subconscious and, in that way, it was possible that each of us created an alternative world whenever we slept. But those individual worlds of dream were not _the_ Dreamlands. The Dreamlands were a world shared by those sleepers who could _actively_ dream. Stiles found that difficult to comprehend, but he recurrently came across terms like ‘dreamer’ and ‘dream walker’, which seemed to relate to those people who could tap or walk into this shared world of dreams. In fact, there was a chance that the Dreamlands were created by all the dreamers in existence, a shared world of dreams simultaneously created by people who were asleep in the distant past and also in the future to come.

Whenever he read statements of that kind, or when he reached this very same conclusions based on what he read, Stiles forced himself to stop if he wanted to preserve his own sanity.

What seemed to make the least sense was the fact that the Dreamlands existed as an alternative oneiric reality, as a physical dimension. Some sleepers (those dreamers who had proven to be imaginative or gifted enough to actively dream) had been allowed into the Dreamlands, usually through a set of ginormous black gates, although there were other versions in which dreamers just crossed through a thick mist, or jumped over a cliff. If you entered into the Dreamlands in this fashion then you still existed in the waking world, and you had to return to it every time you woke up. But there was also a way of entering the Dreamlands _physically_ from the woken world. There were stories about deep caves, dark crypts, and never-ending spiral staircases that connected our world with the Dreamlands – which gave Stiles a headache.

Not much of that made sense. To make things worse, Stiles knew he was reading from less than reputable sources, so even if he had learnt a lot, he was not sure if any of that would be useful. It all began to make more sense, however, after the Fourth of July pack barbeque.

Before that day, Liam and Isaac had appeared in his dreams, true; but something clicked when he encountered Isaac punching Theo into a bloody and gory pulp in that school bus. It was not just the fact that only the three of them seemed to be aware of their surroundings, it was the fact that nobody else seemed to react. Except for Coach – but Coach had always been a mystery to science. Was there a chance that he, Liam and Isaac were ‘dream walkers’ and that they could access the Dreamlands? He tried to explain this to Liam and Isaac once, but he woke up before he could explain anything. When he (they?) had that dream about the tavern, something felt odd, as if that had not been a usual ( _ha! usual_ …) dream. And then, after they got mauled by that zebra knight, he had been transported to a place where he _saw_ the two enormous Black Gates – the gates that lead them into the Dreamlands. Had they been in the Dreamlands without them knowing or realising? And where did he go when he was in a dream with Isaac and Liam? Were they in his own dream or in one of theirs? Or perhaps shared dreamscape?

Stiles began to notice that in his dreams a different type of logic worked, and that the ideas he had of asking Liam and Isaac about their opinion on dreams did not seem that great when he was awake. Stiles tried to rationalise that, and told himself that his subconscious wanted to reinforce his own hunches, but his conscious was not very keen on that.

Nothing made sense, and Stiles could not even have a nap, because he may slip again into the freaking Dreamlands. On top of everything was the question of why only now was Stiles being a dream walker when he did not remember being one before. Was it the nogitsune? Was it Nyarlathotep? There was no good alternative.

***

The morning Stiles woke up after seeing two large black gates in his dream (the dream that had started in a snow-covered forest and then had moved on to an idyllic village by the sea), he was so hyped that he tried to jump out of bed. Pity that his foot was trapped in the sheets so he only managed to throw himself to the floor. Lydia had seen her boyfriend jump excitedly out of bed way too often to worry about it this time, so she just rolled over in bed and let him be. He went through all his notes just to confirm that they were _the_ Black Gates. Google also told him that a gate in a dream meant an opportunity or that someone was draining his energy. Stiles rolled his eyes and decided to stick to the occult interpretation.

“Stiles,” Lydia’s voice called behind him loud and clear. She had had time to wake up and have a shower while Stiles had been reading his notes in his pyjamas. He had not noticed a thing.

“Yeah, Lyds?” Stiles was startled, but then he spun on his chair to look at Lydia.

“Whatever you’re doing: stop it,” his girlfriend said, wrapped in her bathrobe as she finished drying her hair with a towel.

“I’m not doing anything,” Stiles excused himself.

“Then you’ll have no trouble stopping it, right?” she said with a complacent smile as she sat down on their bed.

Stiles only then noticed that, resting on the bed, there was an outfit for him, which Lydia had carefully chosen for him. That made all of Stiles’ alarms ring, because she only chose what he had to wear on selected occasions.

“Erm… What’s happening on today?”

“You better wake up properly and stop going through your notes,” Lydia threatened without actually explaining why.

“Dad’s birthday!” Stiles suddenly remembered. “It’s ok! it’s ok – I have a present. I haven’t forgotten. I just… you know. Forgot that it’s today…” He excused himself as he disappeared into his wardrobe. A few seconds later he pulled out a medium-size box wrapped in colourful paper. “Got it!”

“Hmmm…” Lydia sounded unimpressed, but Stiles knew she was only teasing. He sat by her on the bed and gave her a quick kiss. “You better go in and get ready. We have a full day ahead today,” she added before opening her wardrobe and searching for an outfit for herself.

Once they were ready they drove to the Sheriff’s house, where Natalie and the birthday boy waited for them to go and have an early lunch (where Stiles had to grind his teeth in frustration seeing the obscene amount of forbidden food groups on his father’s plate). After they finished the cake, it was present time, and Stiles jumped to hand his dad the box. In it, Noah found a mug which read ‘In Dog Years You’d Be 315’, a small envelope containing a ‘valid for a father and son fishing trip’ voucher, and a framed photograph which was also wrapped.

“What’s with the extra wrapping?” Noah asked as he destroyed the coloured paper.

“Just wait and see,” Stiles winked as he patted Lydia’s knee.

“I don’t have anything to do with that. I got you this,” Lydia said as she put on the table a small box, immaculately wrapped in silver satin paper.

“Thanks, Lydia! Let me open Stiles’ thing first—Why did you get me a framed picture of a _bicycle_?” Noah asked when he saw what was hidden under the many layers of wrapping.

“No, no, no… _Dad_!” Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Just kidding,” the Sheriff said with a smile. “Let your old man indulge in some dad jokes on his own birthday!”

“Well, happy birthday dad,” the younger Stilinski blurted as he leant back against his chair, although not concealing the warm smile on his face.

“He got you a _bike_?” Natalie asked, perhaps more surprised than Noah himself.

“It’s more than a bike,” the Sheriff explained with a surprised grin on his face. “This is a proper road bike! Stiles, that must have cost a _fortune_?”

“He’s been saying it for a while now that he wanted to do some real cycling,” Stiles explained to Natalie. “So I searched if it was healthy for people his age to do long-distance cycling,” Noah glared at his son, while Lydia rolled her eyes. “And this was the best option within my price range, so I got the pieces from different… Doesn’t matter.”

“Did you put it together?” the Sheriff asked suspiciously.

“ _Yes_ , dad. I _did_.”

“With Ethan,” Lydia clarified.

“Ethan… Ethan _might_ have been present while the assemblage took place,” Stiles admitted with a gentle shrug.

The Sheriff stood up to hug his son and thanked him for all the birthday presents. When he sat down he opened Lydia’s present, which was a DNA ancestry test, and Natalie’s, which was a beautiful thin watch with a brown leather strap.

Later that afternoon, the Stilinski-Martin family headed back home, where they were meeting Chris and Melissa for coffee and more cake. Stiles still felt odd having a normal afternoon with the ‘grown ups’, but he had assumed that Scott and Isaac would have come along, so he could not hide his surprise when the soon-to-be Mr and Mrs Argent walked into his home without the two soppy werewolves behind them.

“Wait… Where’s Scott?” Stiles asked after hugging Melissa, completely at a loss, and instinctively reaching down for his phone. He looked at Lydia, expecting her to have an answer, but she just shrug her shoulders.

“He’s stayed home with Isaac,” Melissa apologised. Chris frowned.

“Are they ok?” Stiles blurted.

“Yeah, everything’s ok. I think Isaac was just feeling tired,” she explained, remembering the conversation they had earlier that morning, when Isaac had sat on their kitchen step drinking all of their milk. “He did not have a good night’s sleep…”

Melissa’s comment immediately triggered something in Stiles’ mind. Isaac had not been sleeping properly? Isaac was feeling _tired_? If he knew something about werewolves, it was that they did not get tired easily, and if he had had a restless night it could only mean that his suspicions were probably correct. Isaac _must_ be having odd dreams, and Stiles had seen Isaac in his dream last night. And the night before. It could _not_ be a coincidence!

Melissa and Chris stayed for coffee and more, sharing old stories of their days in high school (Melissa and Noah had gone to school together) and the old days of Beacon Hills, including embarrassing and drunken stories of their teen years. They inevitably ended up mentioning Claudia (who appeared in many of their stories), but Noah could now think of her with a fond smile and only a small tear in his eye. They talked about Lydia’s life in England, about her research project. They discussed their apartment in Boston and how Stiles was not allowed to choose furniture ever again.

Stiles’ afternoon flew by, but he was not paying much attention to his dad’s birthday around him. He tried to answer whenever he was asked, and did his best to add to the conversation, but he was mostly thinking about Isaac, about his restless nights, and about how the werewolf appeared in his dreams. A couple of times Lydia had to stop his knee from bouncing, and he apologised.

Melissa and Chris left. Lydia and Stiles stayed with their parents for a bit longer, but they left after a while. On their drive back Lydia had to ask.

“What’s troubling you?”

Stiles for a second wondered if he should deny all knowledge and pretend he did not know what she was on about, but in the four years they had been together Stiles had learnt to know better. Nothing good ever came from lying to Lydia Martin.

“I’ve just been thinking about Isaac, just that.”

“Yeah… I noticed he ignored the pack chat today,” she agreed.

“What was on the pack chat?” Stiles asked, completely confused. Lydia definitely did _not_ roll her eyes.

“Do you think this is something we should all be worrying about?” his girlfriend asked, always accurate in her wild stabs in the dark. Stiles never knew if this was a banshee thing or just her natural sharp mind.

Stiles thought carefully as he tapped his fingers on the driving wheel. He bit his lip before replying.

“I don’t know yet…”

***

Stiles woke up, immediately noticing that he was in a dream. He was in his living room, but there was something very wrong. It was much larger, as in way _way_ bigger. If his dad ever wanted to build a bowling alley, he had plenty of space now.

“Dad?” he asked, something inside telling him that this was, actually, his dad’s doing.

“I’m outside, son!” the Sheriff called.

When Stiles walked to the garden, he could see his dad in a check shirt with his sleeves rolled up, a tool belt, and a hammer in his hand. The same man that had failed to build a spice rack for his wife had built an entire extension that could house an airplane. Melissa was standing by his side in her scrubs, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Dad? Whatcha doin’?” Stiles asked with concern and pointed at the new structure. “Is the entire pack moving in with us? Hello Melissa.”

Melissa did not reply, she just rolled her eyes and walked away back to her car.

“No, no… Natalie would not have that. Sorry, kiddo,” the Sheriff apologised. “But I just needed some more space, you know?”

“Well… I can see. You wanted something and you went for it daddy-o. Went _biiiig_. Proud of you,” he said as he shook his head.

“But don’t go to the far end. I haven’t filled that pit yet,” his dad cautioned as he nailed a few planks to the wall.

“The pit? What pit?”

But the Sheriff was not paying any attention any more, busy as he was hammering something into place. Stiles then ran towards the end of the extension, only to see a massive, bottomless, pitch-black abyss. He approached it carefully, not really worried about falling in (he had already fallen down a dark pit in his dreams before), but fearing something big, ugly and scaly would come out… When he reached the edge, he saw that his dad had built an actual viewing platform. From there, and holding tight to one of the posts of the veranda, Stiles dared look down, where he saw two large black gates. He let out a sigh and slowly walked back.

He had come across the black gates already in his dreams, and they are mentioned by Randolph Carter in his narratives as one of the entrances to the Dreamlands. The fact that they were a recurrent feature in his own recent dreams supported his suspicions that he (and probably Isaac and Liam too) could be, well, _dreamers_ , in the occult sense of the word. The problem was that they could not cross the gates without the keys. Isaac had had the keys. _Twice_. But they had had them without the Gates, and whenever he had been at the gates, Isaac had not been there.

Stiles was about to go back to his room when he heard a voice calling down from the pit. At first he was not sure he had heard it, but when the cry came again, this time loud and neat, he could not deny that he had heard it. He froze where he stood when the voice called again for Isaac.

Stiles ran back to his living room, a safe space even in his convoluted dreams. He had heard a voice from beyond the gates at the bottom of an abyss calling for Isaac. Not that he knew any other Isaacs (excluding Isaac Stephens, who had attended with him a few classes last semester), but considering the circumstances he guessed that the voice must be calling for Isaac Lahey.

He was pacing up and down the living room, his thoughts only accompanied by his dad’s never-ending hammering. _Think, Stiles! You need to get to Isaac. You’ve read about it. You can_ dream _stuff. You can make things happen in your dreams. You have a pack bond with Isaac. Focus. Just focus…_ Stiles stood there with his eyes closed, forcing his focus to find Isaac.

“Don’t press too hard, son,” his dad said as he walked into the room. “You’re making it overly complicated.”

“And what would that be, dad?” Stiles asked in a tired voice as he collapsed on his dreamy couch.

“It does not matter,” the Sheriff replied as he walked into the kitchen. “Whatever you are trying to achieve pulling that face. If you want to go and see Isaac, you just need to walk there.”

“I don’t know where he is, dad!” Stiles yelled from the couch, as he massaged his temple.

“He’s not in the house, is he?” Noah said as he walked back in the room, a big slice of cake now in his hand. “Then just go out and find him! He must be at Melissa’s or his place with Scott.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and bit his tongue about the unauthorised dessert, but not knowing what else to do, he decided to do what his old man had just suggested. So he walked to the front door and opened it. When he stepped outside, against all logic and previous experience, he found himself suddenly in a bedroom, looking at Isaac wrestling or cuddling with a massive wolf – either or.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked with a side grin.

“Stiles?” Isaac asked completely surprised.

Well, at least he had found Isaac. He did not know how it had happened, and was not sure if he could repeat it, but he needed to get Isaac back to his house and show him that pit with the voice calling for him from the Black Gates.

***

“No, Stiles, you don’t understand… I think I know that voice?”

Stiles and Isaac were lying flat on the boards of the viewing platform at the far end of the Stilinski’s extension. Stiles had shown his friend the abyss and they both had heard the voice, but now Isaac was speaking nonsense.

“Sorry, you _what_ now?” Stiles asked, clearly not liking the sound of that.

“Stiles…” Isaac said with a trembling voice. “I _know_ that voice.”

“Where from?”

“I don’t know… but I think I’ve heard it before.”

“Ok, time out,” Stiles said as he pulled Isaac away from the edge and back to the apparent safety of the viewing platform. “Do you know what those gates are?”

Isaac’s brow furrowed as he paused for a couple of seconds. “I guess you’re going to tell me?”

“Someone give the wolf a prize!” Stiles smirked. “That, I think, is the entrance to the Dreamlands.”

Isaac looked very unimpressed. He then crawled back to the edge to have another look at the Black Gates before pushing himself back to where Stiles was.

“We’re already in a dream, Stiles. No matter how weird that sounds, I think that you and I already knew that. How can there be a gate to the dreams if we’re already in a dream?”

“Yes, and _no_ ,” Stiles replied.

Isaac arched an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and cocked his head with a grin, giving Stiles his old patented ‘bitch, impress me’ look which his friend always found so irritating. Stiles then went on a long explanation of what he had been reading.

***

“So… a dream _loop_ ,” Isaac said trying to understand what Stiles had just explained with his right index finger counting one against his left index.

“Yep,” Stiles nodded.

“A dream loop shared by you, me _and_ Liam,” he counted a second finger.

“Aha.”

“Which is an intermediate level between our own individual dreams and a more generic Land of Dreams, right?” Isaac counted a third point.

“You’re acing this, scarfwolf,” Stiles put his thumbs up.

“And these… these Black Gates let us into that realm?” Isaac counted his little finger.

“If you have that in your head, then you have it in a nutshell,” Stiles winked and nodded. Isaac did not like the joke, so he pushed Stiles over, throwing him to the floor.

“And why do we need Liam again?”

“Because,” Stiles explained as he stood up again, “for some reason we only get the keys when it’s the three of us.”

“So, when we were on that frozen pier outside the school bus…”

“…and when we were in my living room. Yeah, I remember those dreams too,” Stiles clarified when he saw Isaac’s confused face.

Isaac fell silent and with a stern face, thinking carefully about what Stiles had just said. He remained like this for a few seconds, making Stiles anxious. Only when Stiles was about to burst with impatience, Isaac spoke.

“So how do we get Liam?”

“Oh, well… we need to get into his dream and… erm… bring him to our loop?” Stiles guessed.

“And how do we do that? How did you come into my dream?”

“Well… We think of our connection, we follow your pack bond… and then boom. We’re there?”

But Stiles did not really know. He had a vague idea, but he was not sure. Isaac was not happy with this explanation, but his friend begged him not to despair. After all, it had worked by pure luck before, so it might work again. And simply because he did not know how it had happened did not mean that he could not do it again.

“We don’t know why a plane flies, but we can still get on one and, you know…. travel somewhere,” Stiles finalised with a poor metaphor.

“But we _do_ know why planes fly—“

“Not the point, Lahey! Not the point,” Stiles warned as Isaac chuckled.

So they sat again in Stiles’ living room, thinking about their connection with Liam. Isaac found his pack bond with ease and, following Stiles’ previous experience, it should have been a simple matter of heading to the nearest exit and… and hope for the best. With that in mind, Stiles opened his bedroom door and asked Isaac to jump in, as he had the strongest connection with the other werewolf. Isaac took a careful step in and nothing happened. He looked back at Stiles with a confused expression but his friend just told him to wait. Then Stiles walked in too and… nothing happened either.

“This plan sucks, you know?” Isaac teased.

“I thought only your _boyfriend’s_ plans sucked,” Stiles retorted, remembering how they usually took the piss out of Scott.

“You saying Scott sucks?” Isaac suddenly asked with malevolence. Stiles was too clever to take the bait there so he just glared at the werewolf and sat on his bed, trying to think about what to do next.

“Don’t say a word,” Stiles warned.

Isaac put his hands up in surrender, but his grin still shouted mischief. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry Stiles,” he added as he sat on the bed and patted his friend’s knee. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way—“

The moment Isaac leant to rest his back against the wall, he fell back into an empty gap. He reached out with his hand to hold on to Stiles, but he simply pulled him back into the void with him. When their backs hit the floor, they were in some sort of cafeteria, behind the counter.

“What on Earth… Are we in matching… _ice-cream shop_ uniforms?” Stiles asked as he shook his head and tried to sit up.

“I… I think we _are_ ,” Isaac replied, looking down at his lime green shirt with baby yellow sleeves and a white apron. He was about to complain when he heard two voices he easily recognised. “But the good news is: I think we found our third musketeer.”

Stiles looked at Isaac, who was pointing with a finger over the counter and Stiles nodded in agreement.

***

They pulled Liam over the counter and everything went black.

“Stiles?” Isaac called as he fell through the void. “Stiles! I don’t think we can find our dream loop!”

But Stiles was nowhere to be seen. Isaac was again free falling through the abyss, at the bottom of which he knew he would be able to see the Black Gates waiting for him…

“We need to think of a somewhere us three will recognise!” a voice called through the void, this time it was clearly Stiles’. “That may land us in our shared loop?”

“May?” Isaac called out.

“This is not rocket science, Isaac!” Stiles sounded really annoyed, but Isaac had to smirk.

“I think I know of a place!” Isaac yelled into the darkness.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… trust me!”

Isaac focused on the one spot he knew the three of them would recognise, imagining himself, Liam and Stiles in it. It would be a bit of a surprise to his friends, but the laugh would be worth it.

***

“Ok, are you two going to explain this now?” Liam begged, sounding tired.

How Isaac had managed to drag him to Arrakis, the main planet in the _Dune_ books was beyond Stiles’ understanding. But he had done it. Somehow. And now they were bringing Liam up to speed.

“Have you in your recent dreams come across the Black Gates?” Isaac asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will be on the adventures of Cantior and the Seven Sleepers, so it's going to be a while intil we get back to the boys -- sorry!
> 
> Other than that, any thoughts or ideas? As always, all comments welcome!


	12. Waiting for a star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cantior froze where he sat. The woman in front of him did not even look at him, too focused on the fire. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised that this was going to be another inflection point in his quest. Women in hooded cloaks did not just happen to appear in secluded rover camps in ruined cities. But it was not just the situation, it was her pose, her mysterious smile, and her smug tone.
> 
> OR: Cantior begins the new leg of his journey through the Dreamlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shouold be working, but I can't really focus from home...

**_Ulthar, in the Dreamlands_ **

Cantior looked around at the deserted town square, and let out a long-held sigh, knowing that the second part of his journey was only about to begin. With resignation, he walked back into the tavern, which now was a hub of activity where the locals were busy discussing the brawl that had just taken place. A group of seven travellers in particular seemed overly excited about what they had just seen, and before Cantior had time to sit back on his seat, they were gone in a rush.

He could only think of the tall and blond outsider, the one that seemed so familiar that it _hurt_ , as if a long-repressed (or, more likely supressed) memory had been triggered, but was still denied to him. Who _was_ that outsider? And how had he come into the Dreamlands? And, more importantly, how could he find him? Perhaps he could lead him _out_? All the anxieties and insecurities that he had managed to overcome during his travels across the Dreamlands began to come afloat again, although this time Cantior had enough perspective and experience to use them to his advantage, rather than letting them engulf and drown him.

 _Fucking gods_ , he cursed mentally as he asked the landlord for another jug of ale.

“Good afternoon, outsider,” a man suddenly stood by Cantior’s side. He had come from a dark corner, although Cantior could have sworn he had not been there just a second ago.

“Hi,” he replied cautiously, keeping his eyes on the landlord, hoping this stranger would leave him alone.

“You should be mindful whom you curse at,” the man said.

“I beg your pardon?” Cantior now turned around.

“Never mind, you’ll learn eventually…” the man added mysteriously.

“What do you want?” Cantior asked, now increasingly uncomfortable, but not budging an inch. Around him, it seemed as if none of the patrons were aware of either him or of the shadowy person.

“Oh, nothing, _friend_ ,” the man clarified in a tone so sweet and alluring that it was unsettling, still without introducing himself. “I just wanted to give you some friendly advice.”

“I don’t need any advice from the likes of you.”

“Charming, but wrong.”

As the man lowered his voice and came closer to Cantior, the temperature dropped around them. Cantior’s vision became fuzzier at the edges, and the entire tavern seemed to fall into an impenetrable darkness. Only the mysterious man seemed visible – and not even all of him. Afterwards, Cantior could not have been able to tell anyone what the man had looked like or what he had been wearing. Cantior could only remember that man’s _eyes_. Those eyes which were like two bottomless abysses of darkness with two daggers of painful blue light piercing through the black mist. Two pinholes of burning light amidst a black abyss that dug and searched into his very soul. Two eyes which became, for the few heartbeats their conversation lasted, the only thing in Cantior’s universe.

“Remember this, Outsider, for we shall not meet again: There is a tower, far in the Hills of Hap,” the man said, his voice now a mellow music that reverberated in Cantior’s head. “The old folk call it the Moon Tower, and it is built with dark basalt and grey granite, but its gates are made of Tanarian silver.”

 _Moon Tower. Hills of Hap. Tanarian Silver_.

“The tower is old and dilapidated, the walls crumbled by creeping ivy, but the arched gates are still standing. The entrance to that tower is shut, and it cannot be opened by anyone from this realm.”

 _Entrance is shut, but.._. _Why?_

“Listen,” the man insisted as Cantior’s thoughts drifted. “The Wolf Knight will come through and open it for you when his star shines above its battlements.”

_Wolf Knight. Wolf Star. Open the entrance._

“You must be _there_ when the conjunction is right, and wait for the entrance to open.”

 _Be there and wait_.

“But most importantly – you _must_ leave the entrance open. Don’t let the gates shut behind the Knight. Remember, leave the entrance open!”

_Leave the entrance open. Open…_

Cantior shook his head when the two bright points of light disappeared. Around him, the tavern came back to life with its usual busy movement and hubbub of conversations. The landlord came and brought Cantior his ale. The mysterious man had disappeared. Now that he thought about it, Cantior was not really sure if there had been a man there at all. The entire episode was very blurry and ill-defined. An idea, though, was now floating around his mind. His trip now had a purpose. He had heard about this Moon Tower he should go and check. Someone had told him, but somehow he had only just remembered about it. The outsiders and the Tower may be connected. The Tower might give him some answers. It may be _one_ of the answers. It might be part of his second chance, his long-ago imposed destiny.

He sat on the stool, and looked into his tankard, planning his next steps.

However, as he drank his ale and got ready to go, he remembered the outsiders he had seen in that very tavern. It was funny how the Moon Tower idea had almost pushed his thoughts on the outsiders away. They had been there just a few minutes ago! And one of them was painfully familiar… Yes, Cantior knew about the Moon Tower, but the tower would always be there, while the outsiders could be anywhere. They might not be around anymore, but _someone_ must have seen them. He should find them first. And what about the Wolf Knight? None of the outsiders looked like a knight, but one could never be sure.

With all these thoughts busy in his head, Cantior finished his drink and payed his tab. He wrapped himself in his travelling cloak and ventured outside with three thoughts in his mind: the Wolf Knight, the Moon Tower under the Wolf Star, and the three mysterious outsiders.

***

For an entire year, Cantior travelled up and down the Ulthar road looking for the three outsiders. He started by going north, towards the swamps that border the land of Lomar, including the busy cities of Thran and Cydathria. From there, he followed the merchant routes that went in all directions, including down south to Ulthar and beyond, re-tracing his steps down to the harbour city of Dylath-Leen. On his travels, he asked every merchant in every caravan, and every publican in every tavern. Despite his best efforts, no amount of coin or brawn got him any information. Not even his bronze dagger, the object given to him by the two guardian priests that commanded the utmost respect in the Dreamlands, got him the information he wanted.

He gave the description of the three outsiders to everyone he asked, hoping that would be of any help. He waited around the port cities, waiting for ships to dock in case any of the oarsmen from distant lands happened to have seen them. Cantior could barely remember what they had worn, and that one was shorter and blond, but he properly remembered the tall one with the sandy blond, curly hair, the blue eyes, and the characteristic earlobe. Still, no matter how many people he contacted, he got only empty stares and sympathetic shrugs. Nobody could tell him what he wanted to know. No one could give him the information he _needed_. It was as if the three outsiders had simply vanished.

His old self would have despaired long ago, but five years travelling and getting to know himself had taught him better. He knew how to face such adversities with patience. Furthermore, he also had not had another task to look into. Cantior had had an idea rumbling in his head for a while now, and he had been luckier with that. He still had to find about the Wolf Knight and the Wolf Star but, surprisingly enough, the Moon Tower, for all the mystery that surrounded it, had been the easiest thing to locate.

The Hills of Hap were fairly known, and there were a few old timers, veterans from the old expeditions of Kuranes, who knew about the Moon Tower that was shut and that shall not be opened. The fact that he could find the tower was encouragement enough for him, and he was happy to ignore the warnings about what could be locked inside the tower. The Wolf Knight and the Wolf Star were a different matter.

Stars and the heavens were the realm of priests, which Cantior distrusted and disliked, but there were ways of bypassing them, consulting the source directly, so he tried the libraries himself. He once visited the library of Olathoë, several years ago, looking for answers to completely different questions.

“You are the outlander who visited us,” the librarian greeted Cantior, recognising him as soon as he crossed the threshold. “Welcome back.”

“You have a good memory,” Cantior said as he handed over his weapons and his travelling cloak to the assistant who diligently had approached him, just as he had done when he visited the library the first time.

“It is part of my job, I’m afraid,” the librarian said with a warm smile. “Remembering, I mean! Have you come to look for more answers about the gods?”

“I’m actually here to learn about the stars…” Cantior admitted, dragging the last word slightly, as if he was not that sure himself of what exactly he was looking into.

“Are you sure you’re not trying still to find out about your fate?” the librarian arched an eyebrow.

“I think I now know what questions I need to ask,” the outsider admitted.

The librarian nodded after a pause, recognising how much the outsider had changed from the angry and anxious man who had visited him all those years ago.

“Follow me – I think I know where you can start.”

For long weeks Cantior sat in the library, reading and despairing in equal amounts finding out that there was a lot of discussion about stars and constellations, but very little about the star of the wolf. It seemed as if each god and each temple had a different set of constellations, even if the bright points that pierced the dome of heavens were always the same. And then there were the planets, which were always the same in number, but had again many different numbers and confusing divine associations. It seemed as if each mad man in a robe and a beard thought they were entitled to create a new cosmos based on their perspective. And while this did nothing to diminish his aversion to priests, he eventually found about one Wolf Star. According to the Bone Oracles of Gwynedd, the ‘star’ was _not_ really a star; the Wolf Star, the _Seren y Blaidd_ was a green and bright light, an occasional flash that appeared over the summer skies as a portent announcing cosmic conjunctions.

When Cantior read this, he had to leave the library in a rush. A star that marked a portent? The same feeling that had invaded him when he saw the tall outsider in the tavern took him over again, accelerating his breathing and sending a numbing pain through his body that blurred his vision. A green flash of light across the summer skies? _Something_ inside him fought to surface, the same sensation of a denied memory. Cantior cursed silently at the gods one more time. Outside the library, Cantior leant against one of the pillars, trembling and feeling sick in the pit of his stomach. Fighting the sob that was forming inside him, he stood up and walked slowly away, heading towards the Moon Tower, where hopefully this living nightmare would come to an end.

***

Cantior stood up from the column he had leant against and dragged his feet towards the tavern he was staying at. He sat at his usual corner and ordered a jug of mead with a sigh. Knowing that this would mean that the outsider would be drinking until sunrise, the cloaked man who had been observing him walked away, unseen by his mark.

Wrapped in a scarlet cloak, Taliesin walked unnoticed through the crowded streets of Olathoë until he reached a clearly closed and almost dilapidated temple standing on a small podium, and a pediment that was supported between the walls by only two spiral columns. That was not his name in the awaken world, of course, but nobody needed to know his real name in the Dreamlands – in the same way that nobody in the Dreamlands needed to know who he was when awaken. He approached the door, tapped it twice with his walking staff, and then placed his gold medallion against an almost-invisible rune on the wood. The main door remained close, but a secluded side entrance opened. Making sure that nobody was behind him, Taliesin entered the temple.

The Guildhall of the Oneiric Pilgrims might have looked grotty from the outside, but the inside was neat, tidy and comfortable. There were a handful of bunks on the far side, a few shelves with books and maps, a kitchen with a pantry and a cellar, and a chest with spare clothes and the odd replacement weapon. He threw carelessly the cloak on his bunk, approached the long table at the centre of the hall and sat by the roaring fire, serving himself a ladleful of the broth that slowly stewed by the fire.

“You’re back early,” a woman’s voice called from behind him.

“Oh, you’re still here? I didn’t see your zebra outside.”

“He’s out in the yard,” the woman replied as she left her armour and helmet on a stand and walked to the centre of the hall. She wore similar travelling clothes and the same golden medallion around her neck as her companion. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah, well. He has definitely found something,” Taliesin explained as he nervously pulled at his hair, which left various tufts standing up. “I don’t like this, Olwyn. I think he’s finally moving on.”

Olwyn sat on the bench by Taliesin, her back against the fire.

“What do you think he has found out in that library?” she asked.

“Well, I guess he’s looking for the three dreamwalkers. That’s what he’s been doing these last months. But whatever he found in those books today... he definitely did not like it. He went straight back to the tavern to drink his life away.”

“I’m surprised you did not try to stop him this time,” Olwyn said as a mild reproach. Taliesin had stopped Cantior from drinking himself away once already, many years ago. He could have got them in some serious trouble by doing that. They were only meant to observe, only intervening in case of serious danger.

“Give me a break. That was _years_ ago,” Taliesin rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore his companion and focusing on his soup.

“That’s ok, I can understand,” she said with a grin. “Are you going to ask the librarian about what he was reading?”

Taliesin shrugged and he blew into his soup. Olwyn decided to say nothing else.

The two Pilgrims had been following Cantior for as long as he had been in the Dreamlands. After all, it was not that very often that a non-dreamwalker entered _physically_ into the oneiric realm, and as Oneiric Pilgrims it was their duty to keep an eye on any unwanted visitors. From very early on they had suspected that Cantior had been given a second chance, which meant that the gods of Earth had marked him for something. He carried the dagger of the guardians, after all. If anyone was allowed into the Dreamlands it was certainly _him_ , but the problem was that untrained outsiders tended to cause trouble and draw attention of outer forces and Outer Gods.

“Have you seen the Lahey boy and his two comic side-kicks then?” Taliesin asked when he finished his bowl.

“Do _not_ mention their true names,” Olwyn glared daggers at her companion. “You know what that can _do_.”

“They have received the Keys already,” the man dismissed with a quick gesture and a head shake as he searched through the pantry still hungry.

“I finished the cheese,” she stated flatly. “And just because they have received the keys does not mean they are allowed through the gates yet.”

“They’ve been here _already_ , darling,” Taliesin joked as he sat back on the bench and poked the fire, mumbling incoherently at the lack of cheese.

“They did not come _through_ the Gates,” her tone was glacial. In her opinion, the three outsiders might become dreamwalkers eventually, but they were not quite there yet. “And we still do not know who let them in. They entered through a portal.”

“And you found them and sent them back home!” he replied with wild eyes, failing to see why this was such a big issue.

“Please don’t take this so lightly.”

For a few tense seconds they looked into each other’s eyes. Taliesin was angry that he was being accused of not doing his job properly. If there was anything he hated, in the awoken or the dreaming world, it was people questioning his work. He might have his own, weird, and apparently chaotic approach to his art, but he was _damn_ good at it. On the other hand, Olwyn found herself questioning the wisdom of having invited Taliesin into the guild. His approach to their task was so diametrically opposite to her own that he ended up being a constant thorn in her side. She had to admit that he got things _done_ , but so many things could go wrong that she wondered if the anxiety he gave her was worth it. If it were not because they both knew the outlanders in the outside world, they would have never ended up working together.

“You know I don’t take this lightly,” Taliesin knitted his brow. “Hell, I am very worried because I have known those kids for years. They’re like… like… like the good kind of nephew that won’t cause havoc in your drinks cabinet when you have them over, but that you can just return to your sister saying you’ve had enough when you get tired of them. To me they are.”

She narrowed her eyes, but he did not flinch.

“Fair enough. Sorry I said that,” she apologised.

“That’s ok,” he knocked on the table. “No harm done.”

“Are you going to find out about that book then?” she added as she stood up.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“It’s my time, I think,” she replied with a side smile. He understood immediately.

“Will you now tell me what and where is your time?” Taliesin asked with a hopeful grin.

“You know I can’t tell you,” Olwyn shook his head. It was the same thing every time she had to wake up.

“I know you know those kids too because otherwise you would not be tracking them with me, but I can’t for love nor money place you around them!”

“Goodbye, Taliesin,” she shook her head with a smirk as she took a deep breath, clutched her golden guild medallion, and slowly vanished from the oneiric realm as her consciousness returned to her awakening body.

Taliesin shook his head as he poked the fire again. He had been a dreamer for a few years, and in his time he had coincided with many dreamwalkers (both members of the guild and simple travellers), but he had never encountered one he possibly knew when awake! He was usually not nosy, and he was definitely _not_ one of the keen ones (God, he hated the _keen_ ones who just wanted to interview and be all… _philosophical_ with one another), but his curiosity in this case was too strong. All dreamers from everywhere on the planet and anytime in history existed at the same time in the Dreamlands. He decided long ago not to think too much about the actual specifics because it gave him a headache. But the chances of coinciding in his dreams with someone he might know in real life were astronomical!

He looked out of the high round window and saw that the sun was setting. It was time for him to go: there was a librarian he needed to pay a visit to. He spread the logs in the fire place and put the grid in front. He reached for his walking staff and pulled his cloak. Taliesin pressed the rune on the wall and he walked out into the winding streets of Olathoë.

***

Cantior jumped off the ship the moment it docked in Celephaïs. He wasted no time in the harbour and marched through the main road through the city, to the main gate, and out towards the open countryside. Ever since he had read about the Wolf Star he had lived in a constant state of anxiety, one which was only made worse by the crowded streets and confined spaces.

He began to wonder if perhaps two brief and painful glimpses at his lost memories were enough to reconstruct his past, or at least to force some more memories stolen from him by the gods to surface, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember. His other option could be to find the man in the scarlet cloak who had, quite literally, sobered him up outside Amery’s tavern. That man knew Cantior: he knew who _he_ was, and he even knew his _father_. But he had disappeared. Cantior thought he had caught a glimpse of the man on a couple of occasions although whenever he turned around to check he was not there.

A tall outsider, a green flash of light in the summer sky, and a wild-eyed man in a red cloak was the total sum of information Cantior had about his past. Definitely not enough.

Cantior walked briskly towards the East, towards Amery’s village and the Hills of Hap which apparently were only a week’s travel further. He was on the main road, but sunset found him near the abandoned and dilapidated ruins of the old city of Sarnath. He built a fire and set up camp against a giant semi-circular wall, amidst fallen and broken columns. Cantior was eating his dinner under the starry sky when he heard the rustling of feet. He immediately reached for his rapier and stood up, only to see that a woman in a blue hooded cloak was approaching his camp. She held her hand up as she uncovered her head, and waited at the edge of the cone of light before stepping any closer.

“Good evening,” the woman said politely with a smile, waiting for Cantior’s approval.

“Hello, please, come and share my fire,” he replied. There were rules to follow out in the wilderness for those who came in peace. “I can share also my bread and my water,” Cantior added noticing that she was carrying nothing but a walking stick. 

“That’s very kind, thank you,” she bowed gingerly. “But that will not be necessary. I just came to warm up before I continued on my way.”

“Please, be my guest,” Cantior added as he sat back and finished his dinner. “Where are you travelling to?”

“I am looking for an outsider,” she dropped casually as she rubbed her hands against the fire. “A man not unlike yourself. A man, in fact, carrying your same dagger…”

Cantior froze where he sat. The woman in front of him did not even look at him, too focused on the fire. A shiver ran down his spine as he realised that this was going to be another inflection point in his quest. Women in hooded cloaks did not just happen to appear in secluded rover camps in ruined cities. But it was not just the situation, it was her pose, her mysterious smile, and her smug tone. She did not look like a priestess, but she had the same air around her he had first seen in the elder of the mountain village, the one who had told him about the gods of Earth.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want nothing from you, Cantior Without-a-Past. Quite the contrary,” the woman added, still focusing solely on the fire. “I have something for you.”

Cantior stood up when he heard that, pacing slowly until he was level with the cloaked woman. Her face was completely calm as she stared into the flames, giving her brown eyes and her medium-long black hair an orange and golden tint. She was so focused that Cantior felt that she was reading _something_ from the embers. Now that he was up close, he could see the clearly suspicious air around the short and plump woman with ruddy skin.

“What would that be?” Cantior asked cautiously.

“Something I learnt from the rune books of the Hyperboreans; a book held in the library in Olathoë and written millennia ago, with curse couplets that describe the things that are still to come.”

Cantior stood still and let the woman continue speaking. He wanted to believe that all this was a lie, but something tugged inside him, telling him that he really needed to hear what the woman had to say. This only made him feel like a pawn in the game of the gods again, as if the so-called destiny that had been imposed on him were nothing but an invisible noose put around his neck.

“I know you have come across the Tower of the Moon,” the not-priestess continued. “And you know that you must wait for its doors to open, for so it is written.” Now the woman turned around to look at Cantior, who unconsciously flinched and stepped back. “But you have not learnt anything about the Wolf Knight, have you?”

“What do you know?” he demanded with a dry tone. He knew it was pointless to ask how she knew, because he would only get a mystic load of bullcrap and he did not have the time for that.

“I know very little,” she said with a sly smile as she walked towards the outsider, who even if he was a good head taller than her seemed to cower. “But I do know his _name_.”

With a sneer, the woman looked carefully at Cantior from head to toe. She then turned around and pulled her hood over her head.

“Wait,” Cantior called as the woman disappeared from the circle bathed in the orange light of his campfire. “You must tell me the name!”

 _Isaac, descendant of heroes_ , a voice echoed in the wind from behind him. Cantior spun around to look, but there was nothing there. When he turned again, the woman had disappeared in the mist.

***

The cloaked woman walked away from the ruins of Sarnath, wrapping herself tightly and stepping lightly on the ancient weed-covered cobbles, content with her work. The outsider had all the pieces of the puzzle, and she had just given him a gentle push in the right direction, only to accelerate the unavoidable. She was delighted that she could carry out the work of the God of the Thousand Masks, and it was even more enticing to know that they were taking advantage of the helpless plans of the useless gods of Earth. They wanted to help their champion? The Outer God would use their rules against them. Now she only had to keep a close eye on that lanky Lahey boy that McCall had taken under her roof. Soon enough he would lead her down the spiral stairs.

“Gods, you’re annoying,” a male voice called behind her.

“Oh my, oh my,” she said with a light chuckle. “What have we got here?” she mocked surprise as she turned around. “A wannabe-superman, red cape and all?”

“Not in the mood for you today, sweetheart,” Taliesin replied through gritted teeth. “Not in the mood,” he repeated as he clutched his long staff firmly in his hands.

The woman made a quick gesture with her fingers and began to mumble something in a low tone, but Taliesin did not let her finish the enchantment. He charged staff first at the witch, but she dodged the attack. She repeated the gesture and repeated the same arcane words in quick succession while her opponent swung his heavy staff in a wide circle. She dodged the stick again, without losing her concentration this time. She jumped back as Taliesin grunted in frustration.

From high above came the ominous sound of many large legs tapping the floor in quick succession. The Oneiric Pilgrim did not even waste time looking behind him, because the smirk on the woman’s face told him all he needed to know. _Something_ was coming their way, and it was not going to be friendly. He reached for his belt, looking for one of his throwing daggers, but whatever creature she had summoned was already on him.

“ _Shit_!”

Taliesin looked at the grinning woman and threw his dagger at her with all his fury. But he did not have a chance to see if he managed to hit his target: a large purplish-black hairy spider the size of an elephant was already above him, sinking its fangs into the pilgrim’s now limp body.

***

After the mysterious woman disappeared from his camp, Cantior did not manage to go back to sleep. His mind was too busy processing what he had been told.

 _Isaac_.

The name echoed in his head: a third painful memory trying to poke its way from his subconscious through the barrier of oblivion imposed on him by the same gods that claimed to have a master plan for him. Cantior knew he would go insane if these unconnected revelations kept coming to torment him. Hopefully finding the tower and confronting the knight would finally reveal what the great master plan was. Hopefully…

And who was that woman anyways? She clearly knew far more than what she had told him, but he had been too intimidated to ask more. And when he was ready to ask she had gone. Cantior got too many mixed messages from that woman, because while she gave him all the bad signals, the name had rang true. Did he have a connection with the Wolf Knight? Is that why the name pierced through his mind?

In the morning, Cantior decided that his best course of action was to head to the Moon Tower and face this Wolf Knight. His search for the outsiders could wait, although knowing his luck, his path might still end up leading him to them.

He got to Amery’s village, visited his old friend in the tavern and then continued his journey. Ten days after his conversation with the hooded lady in Sarnath, Cantior was at the foot of the Hills of Hap. It did not take him long to find a village where the locals told him where to find the Moon Tower. He had been expecting some sort of warning, spooky stories, or a cryptic message, but the villagers had been happy to give him directions. The tower was only a reminder of a bygone era, but in the Dreamlands there were far more worrying and scary places, inhabited by real terrors. An abandoned and dilapidated building was just a ruin, and no more.

It took him an entire day to walk through the thick forests to the top of the hill, but from the beginning of his ascent, he could see the rising spire of the ruinous tower. It was built up on the summit, and it grew like a stalagmite up into the thick clouds, so high that its top got lost in the mists.

When he finally reached the hilltop, the sun was setting, and the distant western sky was turning from yellow to pink to a deep navy blue, but Cantior was too busy drinking in the building in front of him. It was just as he had imagined: a circular tower built in black basalt blocks that alternated with grey, pink and purple granites. There were holes high up in the walls, and the ivy creeped up the walls while thorn bushes grew thick around its base. But the entrance was miraculously clear. A large stone arch framed two solid doors of shining silver, that reflected the light with such a pure white gleam that it seemed as if the moon itself was housed in that tower.

Cantior could only smile in anticipation. He had done it! He had reached the Moon Tower! His time in the Dreamlands was drawing to a close. He sat on a small boulder and looked at the evening sky, waiting for anything in the sky he could identify as the Wolf Star. Cantior waited all night; he saw shooting stars, he saw the moon rise and set, and eventually the sun rose on the eastern horizon, but nothing appeared in the sky that resembled the descriptions he had read of the Wolf Star. Frustrated, the outsider walked back to the nearest village.

For two weeks, Cantior climbed up to the hilltop and sat by the Moon Tower, its top high in the sky always shrouded in clouds, waiting for a green flash in the ceiling but seeing nothing. By the middle of the third week, he was running out of patience. Why would he get all the signs that pointed him towards the Moon Tower if it was not yet the time of the Wolf Star? His mood soon soured.

Cantior walked in long strides towards the gates when the sun rose on the morning of his twentieth day without a sign of the Wolf Star. He drew his sword and pummelled the hilt on the silver surface.

“Come forth, Wolf Knight!” he yelled, hammering hard on the door. “Show yourself!”

Silence was the only reply.

Cantior clenched his jaw and backed a few steps so he could look up the tower, beyond the growing ivy and into the clouds that blocked the sight of the top.

“Isaac! _Isaaaac_! I am summoning you, Wolf Knight! My time here is done!”

This was not the first time Cantior felt disappointed or betrayed by the gods who had thrown him into the Dreamlands, but this time he really believed he had been so close…

“Isaac! ISAAC!”

The sun beamed warmly over Cantior, who was now kneeling on the hillside, his sword nailed on the turf by his side. _Surely this can’t just be it? Do I just wait here every night until the frigging star decides to shine? If the time of the Wolf Star has not come yet, why would I get all those signs? Should I continue searching for the outsiders?_

Cantior looked back at the tower and sat back as his bitterness crept back – a bitterness that he had not felt in a long time. Bitterness against the gods and their plans and resentment at the hooded woman and whoever told him about the Tower. Again he was being played like a pawn, and he had nothing to do other than _wait_. A dark, shadowy memory flashed through his head. There was a tavern in one of the villages of the hills, after all. If he was to wait for the gods to flick on a star in the sky, he might as well wait with a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that this chapter introduces the last main characters which had been hinted to throughout the fic. The Oneiric Pilgrims are people which we have encountered already (although not necessarily in this book), and the hooded woman has also had a few mentions!


	13. Ahead of the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seven froze where they stood, turning slowly to look at the small man who had suddenly said that their time travels had been predicted in a book allegedly lost a thousand years before their own time.  
> “We had calculated you would turn up here today,” Ulugh continued. “We also have calculated where you need to go. And we have calculated when the creature that hunts you will crack through the corner of the main entrance.”
> 
> OR: The Seven Sleepers search for the three outlanders they saw in the Dreamlands, but the Hound is getting close

“We have to find those outsiders,” Heraklios said after the armoured knight dragged the three unconscious outsiders through the tavern’s door. “We need them now!”

“What?” Demetria asked. “A warrior in armour just took them away! She did not seem like the kind of person who lets us visit her prisoners…”

“Which is why we need to fetch them before the warrior takes them further!”

“Yes,” Anthemios agreed. “We have to. If they have access to a source of power like a nemeton we must follow them?”

“We do?” Hypathia questioned, siding with Demetria.

“ _Yes_! And we must go _now_!” Heraklios insisted, looking intently at Aurelius, who was still in complete shock. Heraklios furrowed his brow and put both hands on the table, emphasising that they needed to go right now.

Aurelius felt not only Heraklios’s, but also all of his companions’ eyes glaring at him. His hands began to shake and he swallowed hard before he gave the slightest of nods. “We must…”

Heraklios grunted in satisfaction and was off, soon followed by the six other sleepers. Outside, however, there was nothing for them to find.

“Where have they gone?”

“Where is the knight?”

“It wasn’t just a knight,” Anthemios whispered. “Did you see the medallion she was wearing? She was a Pilgrim. A guardian of the Dreamlands…”

“What does that mean, and what do we do about it?” Heraklios demanded.

“It means that the outsiders do not belong here,” Anthemios said, looking over his shoulder with a moderate amount of fear. But it means that they must have come into this realm somehow, and we just need—“

“We need to find how they entered the Land of Dreams,” Aurelius interrupted, seeming suddenly more in control of his own actions. “If we find the angle they jumped through we can follow them.”

“And draw more attention to us?” Hypathia asked. “Jumping through angles would not just bring the hound to us?”

“It’s too late for that – the hound is already tracking us,” Aurelius replied with finality.

They decided to spread around the tavern, trying to look for any hint that could tell them where those three outlanders had come from. Normally they left a slight scorched mark on the ground when they opened the rift through an angle, but so many corners surrounded them that Demetria thought that their entire search was futile. Before she could say this aloud, however, Heraklios drew their attention to a path of trampled turf and soil, the kind of track that, in his opinion, a heavy and charging horse would leave. They followed it up a green hill until they encountered a thick line of scorched soil and grass.

The seven looked silently at each other with a mixture of excitement and dread, before setting their eyes on the large and badly cut tree stump from which the line of scorched turf sprang. The tree had been chopped down long ago, but the uneven surface of the stump was there as a reminder of what had stood there before. Cleomena pulled out her measuring instrument and gingerly approached the cut corner where the charred mark started. She asked Demetria to kneel by her and scribble down the measurements she got. As the two women did this, the five other sleepers remained silent, looking at their friends calculating and measuring what could be their only chance of survival.

Cleomena looked at Demetria once she was satisfied with her measurements and Demetria returned the look with a single nod and a reassuring smile.

“We have it.”

***

“Where are we?” Demetria asked the moment she opened her eyes.

“We’re in a cellar,” Aurelius replied. He was already up, and quietly inspecting their surroundings. “I think...”

Beside her Cleomena was trying to steady herself. After all, they had jumped some five hundred million years in one go, which explained why Demetria also felt like death. The rest of their companions were only slowly regaining consciousness.

“A cellar is good,” Demetria tried to add cheerfully. “A cellar means people and not weird giant animals… Is it your cellar?”

“No, it isn’t…” Aurelius shook his head. The room was relatively big, with a vaulted roof and a beaten earth floor. The walls seemed to be made of bricks, although there were pieces of marble lining in the corners. If it were not for the sacks of flour and the barrels of assorted stuff, Demetria could have sworn they were in a dilapidated and abandoned bathhouse.

“Are we far enough from the Hound, though?” Heraklios asked after he gulped greedily from his water skin.

“I hope so,” Cleomena replied with a shrug.

“And is this where we want to be?” Heraklios asked again, his voice now tense with anticipation.

Demetria looked at Cleomena, who returned the look. They knew they had done the best they could considering their circumstances, but they did not know if that would be good enough.

“Well?” the former wrestler asked impatiently, already anticipating that he was not going to like the answer. He looked at Aurelius for support.

“We need some time to do some real calculations. Accurate and proper ones,” Cleomena sighed when Aurelius turned at her for an answer. “We are probably a thousand or a thousand and five-hundred years away from their precise starting point.”

Heraklios’s face of disbelief could have been worthy of a theatre mask.

“This is the closest we could do on the spot,” Demetria said before Heraklios could interject. “We measured an angle on a tree stump and then we did a blind jump into that particular rift. Believe us when we say that fifteen-hundred years off is the best margin we could achieve with what we had.”

“Which is why we need to stay here and do more accurate calculations,” Cleomena stated matter-of-factly, slowly standing up and stretching her aching limbs.

“We have to spend time doing calculations while a monster from the void is trying to hunt us down?” Heraklios growled with a clenched jaw, as he massaged his temples.

“The more we jump, the more attention we will draw to ourselves,” Aurelius warned with a deflated sigh.

“But the hound already knows where we are, so it is coming to hunt us regardless!” Heraklios opened the book he had been holding against his chest. “This is a creature that never stops chasing after seeing a human. It only stops when it has killed those it has seen!”

“Don’t you think we know that?” Aurelius snapped with a stern tone that admitted no reproach

“This vault is good,” Anthemios said in the tense silence, staring at the vaulted ceiling. His remark about the cellar seemed so out of place that the building tension quickly defused.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the ceiling is already curved,” the young man explained as he turned around and pointed at a few corners in the structure. “There is only a handful of angles in here. We can easily smooth them with plaster so—“

“We’re not staying here,” Heraklios insisted, not even contemplating the possibility of them staying in a cellar.

“We don’t know how long we will need to stay here,” Anthemios barked back.

“Surely we just need to find out if we are in the country of those outlanders or not, right?” Heraklios asked aloud, but looking at Aurelius specially. “How long can that take? Then anyone around should be able to point us in the direction of their sacred tree.”

Cleomena scrunched her face, trying to remember how many weeks it took them originally to calculate how to get to Alexandria, which was the only time when they had to prepare an exact jump through time and space.

“Weeks?” she said with dismay. “Certainly a few days.”

“And you’re assuming that the nemeton is known by the locals. The druids of the Celts kept the location of their sacred groves secret for generations,” Demetria added.

“And during those days are we supposed to live in this cellar?” Heraklios demanded from Cleomena, ignoring the other comment.

“If we plaster the corners and smooth them, then yes,” Aurelius nodded as he looked at the corners that Anthemios had pointed out.

Heraklios gritted his teeth and kicked one of the half-empty sacks that were littered across the cellar. The seven spent the next few minutes arguing whether they should stay there, move on, or try another jump, although this option they discarded quite soon, as they did not want to risk drawing any more attention to themselves. They also discussed what they could do when the owner of the cellar inevitably came down to check their stores, and they also realised that they needed to go outside to find out where and when they were. Demetria suddenly wished she had stayed home reading and writing poetry rather than learning philosophy and mathematics.

Their discussion was cut short when Anthemios walked up the stairs without waiting for the rest to reach a decision. They called for him to come back with shushed alarm, but he was already out, telling his companions to follow him. Once outside, they saw that they were in what seemed the back yard of an abandoned farm, with the main building half collapsed in the distance, and a few goats grazing in what once must have been a paddock. At least they would not have to worry about owners coming around demanding access to their cellar.

They lived hidden in that vaulted room for the next couple of weeks, although all of their waking hours were tense, fearing that at any given moment a cloud of acrid smoke would pour out of any corner or angle, unleashing a Hound of Tindalos on them. In the nearest town (a place called Edessa which was still ruled by the Romans), they bought enough plaster to turn the cellar into a rounded and seamless chamber, without any angles and all its corners smoothened like the inside of an egg. They also found out during the night time that they had travelled only a few hundred years ahead from their present in Ephesos – not that the fact told them much, only that they were not any closer to the outsiders or their nemeton.

Demetria spent all of her waking hours helping Cleomena and her calculations, working on the angles they had measured, while all of her sleeping hours she spent in the Dreamlands, trying to look for more clues about the outlanders. They soon realised that they had two main problems: it was not that they were not only a few thousand years away from their target, they were probably thousands of miles away. It was all a matter of fractions of degree of what they had observed in the Dreamlands. They had to take into consideration not only the angle of the tree stump against the ground (and against the true horizontal); they had to calculate and refine their measurements for the angle at which the tree had been felled and how that related to the vertical and the horizontal. Demetria felt her head spin more than once and had to go out for some fresh air.

Every time she wanted to go outside, however, she had to go with someone else. Aurelius would not have it any other way, and even Heraklios agreed that nobody should leave the cellar alone: the outside world was full of fences, rocks, ruins, and all sorts of angled and pointed things, out of which a Hound could jump at any second. There was so much that could be done by seven people in a plastered cellar, so rather than bother Demetria and Cleomena with their calculations, the other philosophers painted and inscribed protective runes and sigils on the plaster, copying motifs and patterns out of the _Book of Eibon_. They did not know how powerful or effective these would be, but they could only try.

On the ninth day, of their confinement, Cleomena looked at Demetria as she read through a slab of slate with all her final calculations. Demetria read through all the numbers and explanations while she bit her lip. When she finished, everyone was holding their breath. She did not say a thing, but simply passed the slate around for the rest to read and check. Cleomena looked at her friend, her brow shadowed by worry, but Demetria gave her the smallest of smiles.

***

Two hours later, the seven philosophers were lying in their cots, all their stuff packed and ready. They drank their slumber wine and fell asleep, soon waking up together in the Dreamlands. A few hours later, in the darkness of the plastered cellar, a low hum was heard while an eerie grey light glowed through the floor. The humming peaked in a crescendo that became so high that it became inaudible and right then, in a blink, the seven sleepers had disappeared.

Not long after that, the dried plaster that had smoothed one of the corners of the vaulted cellar to a nice curve began to crack under a pulsating pressure coming from the covered angle.

***

Despite their best efforts and calculations, their first jump did not get them any closer to the nemeton of the three outsiders. _Outsiders? We’re also outsiders… They’re probably barbarians,_ Demetria thought.

Their first jump landed them only a few decades away from Edessa, and some eight hundred miles to the south, in Philadelphia in Palestine. They woke up inside a church. The monks that were gathered there ran away when they suddenly appeared, but they returned soon enough singing and carrying lit candles, with a fat looking bearded abbot, saying things about them being saints, and how honoured they were that they had visited their monastery and a whole other stream of things that Demetria did not really understand. Aurelius asked first about a nemeton, or any other local source of power – but apparently there was none. He also tried to convince the leading monk that they needed plaster and an underground room where they could hide for a while. He also asked if they had a library, although none of the books kept there were of any use. After three nights they decided to leave that place.

Their next two jumps were equally unhelpful. They first woke up in a thick green forest deep in the lands of barbarians who spoke some ghastly language, and who positively ran away from them when they appeared at the edge of the village. The second jump took them to a scorched southern land, inside a Roman fort, besieged by veiled warriors. The Roman soldiers took their arrival as a sign of the Christian god they worshiped. The boost in morale was enough to scare the enemy army away, but that fort in a forgotten corner of the Empire was not what they were looking for. The locals who had taken refuge in the fort, however, spoke about a far corner of the desert where the Berbers used to worship a rock decorated with carvings unlike anything else they had seen. Anthemios suggested that maybe that site was a place of power they could use to fight the Hound, but they decided to go for the rumour they heard in the Dreamlands rather than the hearsay of some locals.

They got much more out of their following jump. It became soon evident when they woke up that they were still far in time and space from their target nemeton, but at least they landed by chance in a place where they could do some extra research. They woke up in an abandoned shack in a dry grassland along a main road. In the distance, some imposingly high mountains were covered in snow, but everything else was as flat as a bowl of soup. The surroundings were not very promising at first, but one thing stood up in that barren and flat landscape: a large building unlike anything they had ever seen before. It had a large rectangular base of whitewashed stonework pierced with windows and a massive circular door. The structure grew on top of those impressive foundations like a tower with three more tiers of gold, red and green lacquered timber. The eaves of each tier, which covered narrow verandas, were protected with shiny glazed tiles, and their corners curved and pointed upwards. The top of the roof was decorated with large golden statues. Silk banners of many colours hung from strings and waved in the breeze. After conferring with the rest, Aurelius lead them towards the building.

Heraklios went to knock on the door, but it opened before he could reach it. The circular door opened without a sound, and the seven philosophers stepped into a dark and cool room, paved in polished flagstones, dimly illuminated by a couple of torches.

“Hello?” Aurelius called out in Greek. He then tried in Latin and Persian, but nobody replied.

“Maybe this place is also abandoned,” Demetria whispered.

Before any of her companions could reply, the circular door shut slowly behind them. The door closed and a loud bell rang when it did so. A cold shiver went down Demetria’s spine and a shriek died in her throat. She was about to throw herself to Heraklios’s arms when Anthemios spoke aloud.

“It’s a counterweight!” the young man explained with a nervous smile as he pointed at the mechanism that closed the door automatically behind them. “It’s ok! It’s just a machine. It’s just a counterweight…”

“Welcome,” a voice echoed across the cold stone hall. The seven philosophers instinctively huddled together until their eyes grew accustomed to the dimness and they saw a lonely figure standing at the top of a stairway. “Your arrival is timely. We had been expecting you.”

The man walked slowly down the stairs until he was standing in front of them. He had his head shaved smooth. He had a small nose and piercingly vivid eyes. He was wearing the oddest toga any of them had ever seen, a combination of saffron yellow and deep red.

“Who are you?” Heraklios demanded, taking a step forward, ignoring the surprising fact that the person in front of him, even if a foreign barbarian, was speaking in highly educated Greek. “And what do you know about us?”

“You are not the only ones who have mastered the secrets of the rift, or the jumps through the Land of Dreams.”

Heraklios was taken aback. He looked at his companions, who were equally silent. They all had too many questions to ask, but the revelation that they were expected had rendered them speechless.

“Come with me,” the mysterious man said as he turned around and led the seven into an adjacent room. “You may want to use our library, I suppose, and you are welcome to dine with us during your stay.” He grabbed a torch and illuminated the corridor.

“Hang on, please,” Aurelius stopped and grabbed their guide’s robes so he’d stop as well. “Please, this is too much right now. We have no time to waste with libraries and dinners! We have to do our calculations, and we need to _hide_!”

“We know what is chasing you,” the man, who still had not introduced himself, replied calmly. “We also know where you are heading to.”

“You know?” Cleomena asked suspiciously.

“As I said,” their guide insisted in his unnervingly neutral tone, “we know who you are, and we had been expecting you.”

“But how?”

“Because so it is written,” he added dryly as he turned around and walked deeper into the building.

The seven followed the man with the saffron tunic in silence, and only Demetria noticed the large sculpted friezes that decorated the walls of that corridor. She could only catch a glimpse of each scene, and the bas-reliefs were distorted by the dancing shadows cast by the flaming torch, but on her right side she could clearly distinguish the barrel-shaped creatures with five-pointed heads and tentacles she had seen butchered by the Hound. On her left, she saw scenes full of very different creatures, unlike any she had seen in any of her time jumps: bulbous and fungoid heads with scaled bodies like those of a lobster, with long tails, serrated wings, and ominous pincer claws for arms.

For a few seconds, and amidst the loud pounding of her heartbeats in her ears, Demetria thought she had heard a distant buzzing noise.

By the time Demetria looked away from the friezes, she realised that they had all been led to a large audience hall, or an archive. Or a library. It was a large room, at least three levels high. Three of the four walls were covered floor to ceiling with shelves of books and scrolls – the fourth one was occupied by a huge apse, decorated with complex geometric mosaics of green and red glass, white stone and gold tesserae. At the base of the apse there was what could only be described as an ivory throne, where a figure (or a statue?) was sat, covered with a silk veil. The rest of the room contained long tables with books and other pieces of paper, various measuring instruments, and what looked like star charts. Three circular windows brightly illuminated the hall, casting three pillars of light on the complex geometric designs that were traced on the floor.

“This is the Great Hall of the Gods of Earth,” the man announced. “And I am Ulugh, keeper of this monastery. You have arrived a thousand years after you departed your home in Ephesos.”

As he spoke, the seven Greeks wandered around the hall, reading through the spines of the books, looking at the maps and charts, and only daring quick glances at the veiled figure that presided over the hall.

“We are in charge of protecting and compiling the arcane knowledge that relates to the Great Ones,” Ulugh continued. “It has been foretold in the Pnakotic manuscripts that seven sleepers will awake a long-forgotten evil.”

The seven froze where they stood, turning slowly to look at the small man who had suddenly said that their time travels had been predicted in a book allegedly lost a thousand years before their own time.

“We had calculated you would turn up here today,” Ulugh continued. “We also have calculated where you need to go. And we have calculated when the creature that hunts you will crack through the corner of the main entrance.”

The buzzing noise that Demetria had heard earlier echoed again across the hall.

“Who is this ‘we’ you are speaking of?” Heraklios said with caution. “We have not seen anyone else here…”

Demetria looked for a second towards the beams that supported the ceiling. Up there she _thought_ she saw two large creatures scurrying into the dark corners. She instinctively walked backwards until she bumped against a table. Anthemios was quickly by her side, placing a calming hand on her shoulder, but she could only stare above.

At that moment, the buzzing that came from the ceiling increased in intensity, becoming a nervous and panicked shriek. The seven Greeks ended up huddling together.

“What is happening?” Aurelius demanded from Ulugh.

“You are not the only ones arriving today,” the man said in a calm voice. “Take this tablet,” he continued as he pulled an inscribed sheet of copper. “It has the angles that you will need. Search for the Mission of Saint Ignatius, on a new continent beyond the Ocean.”

“What is coming?” Heraklios snarled as Cleomena grabbed the calculations with shaking hands. Above them, the buzz was now clearly accompanied by the incessant tapping of _many_ feet.

“The Hound,” Ulugh deadpanned. “You have until the light fills that circle,” he added as he pointed at one of the motifs that decorated the floor.

“What?” Demetria yelled with her eyes open wide – the black marble circle on the floor was already half illuminated by the column of light that fell from the high window.

“You’ve got no time to lose.”

“Wait—“

“I must go as well,” Ulugh explained.

“No, wait—“

“We may coincide again,” he added as he bowed and backed towards a door which none of them had noticed until then.

“Ulugh!”

“He’s gone?”

“What do we do?”

Cleomena quickly read through the figures that were inscribed on the sheet of copper, Demetria reading over her shoulder.

“We need to hide,” someone said. Demetria could not tell who it had been.

“We need to jump.”

“We are running out of time – look at the floor!”

“I think I got it,” Cleomena announced. “I think I got it!”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s no time to be sure. We need to get out of here _now_!” Heraklios barked. The black circle on the floor was almost completely illuminated, like a perverse and inverted eclipse.

“Listen, we just—“

Aurelius was interrupted by a loud bang that came all the way from the entrance, the noise echoing through the passage they had used earlier. The buzzing and the shrieking suddenly stopped. Whatever had been crawling under the roof had run away.

“We are leaving,” Demetria said handing their sleeping potions to everyone. “We are leaving and we do this _now_!”

***

Demetria and her companions woke up in a cave. She looked around for any telling signs of the creature, but there were none: no acrid smell, no mysterious sulphuric mist, no flickering green lightning. Not that they had seen _it_ in that eldritch monastery, but they _heard_ enough. She searched into her travelling bag and found her flint and tinder. She risked lighting a fire to get some light, as the second-hand light that came from the mouth of the cave was not good enough.

“Are we all ok?” she asked once her torch was lit.

Her companions looked at each other, and they all seemed fine – other than the soul-clenching fear of imminent death by a Hound of Tindalos, that is.

“I think we are all ok,” Aurelius answered. “Do we think this is where that nemeton is?”

“With the little time we had, and the complex instructions on this copper plate,” Cleomena waved it above her head, looking both tired and terrified, “this should be it. Not that I had much time to read it properly…”

“I am not sure just yet,” Demetria doubted. “I think I’ll go out and… have a look.”

Demetria ventured into the outside with Heraklios, who refused to let her go on her own, and saw that they were in the wilderness. Trees surrounded the cave on all sides, giant trees the likes of which they had never seen before. Their bark was red, their needles deep green, and it reminded them of the cedars of Phoenicia, but thinner and taller. They heard a small rivulet in the distance, and they decided that their best course of action was to walk downhill, and hopefully find the mission that Ulugh had mentioned, and someone who could point them in the direction of the nemeton.

The settlement they found was clustered around a church, but they could not communicate with any of the locals. Thankfully the priest spoke Latin (with a hideous barbaric accent), and pointed them towards the local tribe, who (apparently) used to worship trees in the forest. They also learnt that they were in a land called Alta California, and that they had jumped some five hundred years into the future. At least they had found the Mission, which was a relief; it meant that Ulugh had not sent them on a wild goose chase or to a deadly trap across time and space. All of Demetria’s excitement vanished when the local tribe took them to their old sacred grove, only to see that it was abandoned. Or at least it looked abandoned.

The glade was overgrown with weeds, and the central tree was just a rotting husk, split by lightning, and two large broken branches on the ground. There were hanging wicker decorations and old ribbons, and traces of paint on the bark, but it was all years old, and blackened by soot and mould. Demetria’s guide blurted a long story in his language that she could not understand, but the meaning was clear, though. This was not an active nemeton. Nobody worshiped here anymore. There were no druids. There were no priests. No help to stop the Hound.

And still, before Heraklios and Demetria headed back towards their cave, one of the boys from the village came to find them. Grinning widely, as only an overexcited boy who has just learnt a secret can, he insisted that they should follow him. Heraklios refused at first, but Demetria felt in her gut that this might be relevant, so they followed the boy to a hut built outside the village, lost in the shadowy forests. Before Heraklios could ask anything from the kid, he had run away, and the two sleepers were alone in front of the hut.

The hut was not inviting in the slightest, but there must have been a reason for that boy to lead them there. With a few careful steps, Demetria advanced towards the hut, but it was Heraklios who stepped ahead and entered the shack first. There they found an old woman, with snow-white hair and tanned skin covered in a myriad of wrinkles. The woman said a few welcoming things in her own language, which none of them could understand.

“We don’t understand,” Demetria said.

The old woman simply nodded with a smile and kept talking, ignoring Demetria’s complaints. She moved around her hut and rustled through her belongings, until out of a basket she produced something wrapped in furs. She walked slowly to Demetria and handed her the bundle. Demetria looked back at Heraklios, seeking confirmation, but the man simply shrugged and the old woman insisted in handing her the bundle.

“Ulugh!” the old woman said when Demetria accepted it with a shocked smile. “Ulugh!”

Then the woman nodded solemnly, and quickly pushed them out of the hut, shutting the door.

“What was all that about?” Heraklios asked, who had clearly heard the name of the mysterious monk of the Gods of Earth.

“I don’t know…” Demetria admitted as she opened the bundle. Inside she found a hoop of willow and soft leather, with a woven spider web of sinews inside, and two long eagle feathers hanging from it.

“A charm?” Heraklios ventured when his friend showed him the item.

“Possibly… but I think we first came to this nemeton for a reason…”

Back in the cave later that day, Demetria saw the priest had already delivered a handful of barrels of plaster. Her companions were busy smoothing the corners and inscribing protective runes when she broke the news about the nemeton. She had found it, yes, but there were no signs of druids.

A great argument followed. Yes, they had found the Mission of Saint Ignatius, and yes, they had found the sacred tree of the local tribe, but the tree seemed abandoned and damaged. They did not have a way of finding out if the Earth power still converged into the nemeton, and they were not sure that they could carry out the ritual without a druid. Cleomena tried to explain that maybe they were not at the right time, but that only caused a couple of accusatory fingers pointed in her direction. The owners of said fingers soon found themselves receiving reprimands, daring them to read complex mathematics when a hunter from beyond was about to eat them. Demetria wanted to underline that the old lady had mentioned Ulugh and had given them some sort of amulet or talisman, but nobody knew what to make out of that.

They all sat back in silence after that, except for Heraklios, who went back to plastering the cave, smothering his trowel aggressively against the rock walls.

***

A week later they were still in the same cave in California. Demetria took Aurelius and Hypathia and Anthemios to see the nemeton tree, but none could confirm if it was active or not. After all, the three barbarians from the Dreamlands had said they had repowered it, so it might have been deactivated somehow. The problem was that they did not know if they had arrived too early – or too _late_.

In the cave, the tension did nothing but grow during those days. They knew they were being hunted by a relentless creature, and they knew that they were in the correct place, but the uncertainty about the time was killing them. They did not know how far (or in which direction) to jump next – and they knew that they could not spare any second of their time.

Cleomena was the one who was suffering the most, because she had been the one who had had to interpret the calculations given to them by the mysterious Ulugh on the spot. She felt responsible for their failure, no matter how much Demetria tried to help her.

Then, in the morning of the tenth day, they were woken up by the unsettling and acrid smell of sulphur invading the cave. Aurelius immediately woke everyone up silently, ignoring if the Hound could hear them or not, but taking the precaution nonetheless. When Demetria opened her eyes, she looked up to see the protective runes they had inscribed in the plaster _burning_ from within, and small fragments of the ceiling flaking and falling on them. Then the ceiling cracked and a larger chunk of plaster fell on their hearth.

“It found us!” someone whispered.

“ _Again_!”

“Everyone, drink the potions,” Anthemios said as he distributed the cups.

“It’s our last vial?” Aurelius asked in surprise.

“There’s no time for that,” Demetria barked. “Cleomena, you have the calculations?”

But Cleomena was not listening. She was awake, but when she saw the crack in the plaster and the smoke that was slowly seeping through the fracture, she fell back on her cot, holding her own shoulders and rocking gently.

“No, no, no… Listen, Cleomena! Come back!” Demetria ordered, but her friend was way off. “We need your calculations!” Demetria physically placed the copper sheet and her bundle of annotated sheets on her friends lap. “Cleomena come back!”

“Drink the potion!” Aurelius ordered Demetria.

“We can’t leave without her! We can’t jump without her!” Demetria begged, close to tears. A chunk of plaster fell from the wall with a dull thunk.

“Let me try,” Anthemios said with helpful eyes before he shook Cleomena’s shoulders, to no avail. He mumbled an apology before slapping her firmly. “Cleomena!”

Around them, all of their companions were slowly falling asleep. Above them, the plaster was now broken in a labyrinth of cracks and crannies of various sizes. The bare rock could be seen through some of them.

“Anthemios, please, do something!” Demetria begged through tears when their friend did not respond. The cave was slowly filling up with acrid smoke.

“Drink your potion, Demetria!” the young man instructed. “I’ll have to make sure she drinks hers.”

“What about you?”

“I still have some time,” he answered with blind hope. Around them all their companions were fast asleep and blissfully unconscious. “Drink that wine. _Please_.”

Anthemios was smiling, although his eyes were teary. Demetria’s hand began to shake as she grabbed the cup and brought it to her lips. Anthemios meanwhile, pried open Cleomena’s mouth and forced the drugged wine down her throat.

Demetria’s vision went fuzzy and blurry, but she could swear that she saw Anthemios gently resting Cleomena on her cot and searching for his own cup. As she fell back against her pillow, the ceiling above her began to shine green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The myth of the Seven Sleepers is a late antique and early medieval tradition, in which seven people from Ephesos (now in Turkey) hid in a cave because they were being persecuted and woke up two hundred years later. They were happy with what they saw but went to sleep again. The Seven Sleepers appear at different times through the Middle Ages, and not only in Christian traditions: they appear in Edessa, in Palestine and in the Baltic sea in the sixth century; they appear in North Africa during the Islamic conquest; they even appear deep in central Asia during the time of the Crusades. I always thought that some sort of dodgy-Lovecraft shit must be the reason


	14. I told you so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen, Scott. It took Isaac some three years to talk to someone about what he felt about you,” Jackson explained, remembering what Isaac himself had told him. He bit his tongue before mentioning that it took him four to tell anyone about his dad… and he told Derek. “It’s been two weeks since his exam, and two weeks full of awful reminders about what happened last year.”
> 
> OR: Isaac struggles to come to grips with the recent developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday to Daniel Sharman <3

“Have you in your recent dreams come across the Black Gates?” Isaac asked.

Liam looked at Isaac narrowing his eyes. Then he slowly looked at Stiles, who was anxiously scratching his head and adjusting his stillsuit. _Black Gates_ … Liam could clearly hear the capital B and G in Isaac’s worried tone.

 _How on Earth do they know about my dreams?_ Liam thought. Half a millisecond later, his own brain gave him the answer: considering what they had gone together through in their recent dreams, he could not say he was surprised. The fact that they were having this discussion in Arrakis was definitely an indicator that he had spent _too much_ time around his nerdy friend (the nagging werewolf one who had been obsessed about _Dune_ for the last months, not the human nerd who also had been obsessed with _Dune_ but had been less pushy). But even if they had shared dreams before, Liam had never encountered the Black Gates with his friends, he had always seen them on his own.

“I’m going to regret this,” Liam surrendered. “But _how_ do you know?”

“Ok, well. Remember shared dream loop, right?” Stiles reminded, and Liam nodded. “We have our own dreams,” Stiles put his hand flat, parallel to the ground, high above his head. “Then we have the shared loop,” he brought his hand down to chest height, “which is where we are now—“

“Probably,” Isaac pointed out, unhelpfully as always.

“ _Shared loop_ ,” Stiles insisted, throwing a death glare at Isaac, who simply replied with his cocked-eyebrow-and-side-smile patented smirk. “And then the Dreamlands,” he brought the hand down to his knees.”

Liam stared blankly.

“The Gates are the entrance to the shared Dreamlands,” Stiles added helpfully, clearly expecting that no further explanation was necessary.

But Liam still did not understand. He looked at Stiles with his furrowed brow and then looked up at Isaac with a begging face. The other beta chuckled before giving a summarised version of Stiles’s long explanation. He mentioned the dreaming and he mentioned dream walkers. He mentioned the Gates and the physical and oneiric ways of entering the Dreamlands. Eventually, Liam nodded slowly as he bit his lip.

“Right… so we’re dreamers, and we can dream stuff, _and_ we have been invited to enter the Dreamlands, but we need the bronze keys before we can open the Gates,” he looked at Isaac and Stiles, and both his friends nodded. “So, why don’t you just dream the keys?”

Isaac was shocked when his two friends looked at him expectantly. “Me? I haven’t done this before on purpose, you know? It’s always been, like, an accident. It just _happened_ …” He shrugged his shoulders for emphasis.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” Stiles slapped Isaac’s shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Isaac excused himself.

“Just try it, will you?”

Isaac rolled his eyes, but he tried. He sat on one of the sofas, and closed his eyes, concentrating, trying to imagine the keys, calling up a memory. He took a couple of deep breaths. He focused.

_Hmmmmmmm_

“Are you humming?” Liam asked with a side smile. Isaac opened his eyes. “You _were_ humming.”

“Is that some werewolf meditation thing I don’t know about?” Stiles asked, failing to conceal a snigger.

“Oh, well, why don’t _you_ try it, know-it-all?” Isaac snapped, finding a cushion and lobbing it at Stiles. “Why don’t _you_ try? You’re the one who always puts us in matching shirts!”

“He’s right,” Liam sided with Isaac, pointing at him as he assented while looking at Stiles.

“I’ve never magically produced keys.”

“Oh, but you can dream matching outfits for us as if we were Ken dolls?” Isaac snarled.

“Liam is the one who magically produced money to pay for our food!” Stiles defended himself.

The three of them fell silent. They took turns to try and purposefully dream the key, without any luck. They tried actively dreaming of any other thing, but it just did not happen. They had managed to dream an entire _planet_ but they could not produce a pair of keys or a sandwich? After what seemed hours of frustrating failing, Liam asked them to stop.

“This is taking us nowhere,” he said, deflated.

“Stiles, please stop pacing around the cave, will you?” Isaac begged as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“But I just can’t understand it!” Stiles fumed. “It should be pretty straight forward.”

“Yeah, well… drawing claws and growing fangs and yellow eyes should be ‘pretty straight forward’,” Isaac mocked. “But it takes a helluva time to learn. And just because you see _Derek_ of all people doing it easily in front of you when you meet him does not mean _any_ of us got there soon.”

“Yeah… You had to chain me to a tree,” Liam sided with Isaac. “Repeatedly.”

Stiles supressed a frustrated groan.

“I think we need to discuss this when we’re awake,” Stiles sighed, as if giving up. Liam and Isaac looked at each other with mirroring concerned faces.

“What do you mean when we’re _awake_?” Isaac dared ask.

“Well, it’s obvious that this is something that we need to discuss with my research notes in front of me. And it’s something that we need to think more carefully about.”

“But… why when we’re awake?” Isaac insisted. A dreadful feeling began to encroach on his chest. It was all very well travelling to Arrakis, and going on a dream quest for the lost keys and the Black Gates with your friends. But doing it while awake was very different. Doing it when awake implied accepting that all of his worries were real and that they would eventually have to tell the rest of the pack – including Scott. And then the proverbial would hit the fan, and everything would change. Isaac did not have the stomach to let his life be derailed again by supernatural crap. Not this time. Not now he had something with Scott.

“Isaac?” Stiles asked, suddenly looking worried.

“I can’t do this when I’m awake,” Isaac muttered.

“Wait, Isaac—“

“No, I _can’t_ ,” he insisted with nervous emphasis.

Isaac stood up and walked away from the sofa, towards the entrance of the cave.

“Isaac!”

_I can’t. Not again. This is not happening. This is still a dream. Just another of the weird dreams. It’s just a dream._

“Isaac?” Stiles begged again.

But the voice came from further and further away. Isaac just walked towards the entrance of the cave and when he opened the door, everything went black.

***

Isaac woke up with a loud gasp, his claws digging into the mattress, and his heart pounding. He sat up with his hands almost trembling and Scott immediately by his side.

“Isaac! Isaac! Easy, you’re home. You’re safe,” Scott soothed his boyfriend as he placed a hand carefully on Isaac’s shoulder. “You’re awake now. Calm down.”

Isaac tried. He closed his eyes and a few tears escaped from his eyelids. He felt Scott’s hands on his shoulders, and Isaac turned around to let his boyfriend bring him into a comforting hug. Isaac was soon burying his nose into the other werewolf’s hair, breathing his soothing scent in. Scott, meanwhile, placed a few soft kisses on Isaac’s neck and shoulder, and rubbed his hands gently on his boyfriend’s back through his old shirt.

“Isaac, what happened?” Scott asked when Isaac’s breathing steadied. “Did you have a nightmare, babe?”

Isaac took a deep breath and sat up straight. He looked at Scott, who even through his sleepy eyes was trying to pull a smile for him.

“Ish…” Isaac admitted. He knew he could not lie to Scott. Not that he wanted to, and he felt terrible inside for not telling, but he was _not_ ready to explain what was going on. Not yet. The beta looked into Scott’s soft brown eyes and sighed.

“What’s going on then?” Scott insisted when Isaac looked away. But he was not going to give up easily this time. “Please, Isaac, you have to tell me. I can’t keep seeing you like this.”

Scott sounded hurt. He brought his hands on Isaac’s chin and lifted it up, so he could see into his boyfriend’s blue eyes, but they were so different from the ones he was used to looking into: they were paler and distant where they had been bright and warm. They were almost fearful – too similar to what his eyes had looked like when Scott really noticed Isaac for the first time during that lacrosse practice, when he had pleaded him not to tell anyone that he was a werewolf.

Something was definitely going on. Scott knew and had known for a while. It all had started when they moved back to Beacon Hills. A few days before he could have sworn it was post-exam stress. He then thought it might have been the anniversary of the France summoning or the Beacon Hills cult. Yesterday Isaac had been weird all afternoon, just to leave for a walk in the evening. Scott was beginning to wonder if Beacon Hills had too many bad memories for him of his dad or Allison. Or perhaps of Erica and Boyd. But Scott could not read minds, which right now was frustrating. Isaac had said that he was going to talk to Liam or Jackson, but Scott did not know if he had. The fact that his boyfriend was not ready to tell him ( _him_ of all people!) pained him, but he knew that the only way around Isaac was to wait for him to open up. Lahey could be one stubborn ass, but Scott could be patient.

“Babe?” Scott asked again when Isaac did not answer.

“I’m sorry Scott.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For waking you up like that,” Isaac said softly as he brought his knees up to his chest, kicking the bed covers carefully on to Scott’s side of the bed.

“Don’t be silly, Isaac. But… that’s not what I asked,” Scott pushed again.

Isaac let out a loud sigh. “It’s nothing,” he lied through his teeth.

“Babe…” Scott tutted as he got closer and searched for Isaac’s hands so they could lace their fingers together.

“It’s just…” Isaac looked up, ready to say something, but he could not. He felt his throat chocking, the words refusing to be spoken.

He knew he had to tell Scott. All his instincts told him so. His inner wolf was almost begging. But something else, something dark, slimy and strong buried deep inside him was terrified of the repercussions, and refused to let go of the words.

Strangely enough, Scott saw this as a gleaming ray of hope, because Isaac had given the briefest and slightest hint of opening up to him.

“I just can’t… it’s…” Isaac looked at Scott, who was waiting patiently with a small smile. “I don’t sleep well. It’s just that,” Isaac quickly dismissed his own concerns.

Scott had to supress a groan as he bit his lip. He _knew_ Isaac was not sleeping well. He wanted to know _why_.

“I think it’s just stress,” Isaac admitted before Scott prompted him for a real answer. It was only a half-truth, but it was all he was ready to admit. Everyone could be stressed. Stress did not mean that you were living in two parallel realities. Stress did not imply cosmic beings interfering with you. “Don’t worry, babe. Please.”

“God, you’re so infuriating… Of course I’m worrying, you idiotic beta,” Scott playfully pushed Isaac back to bed, happy that Mr Clamming Up had actually admitted something. “I’ll always worry about you, babe.”

“I know…”

Isaac looked at Scott, with his brown eyes, and his adorable uneven jaw, and his tanned skin, and his tattooed arm, and his _everything_. He rolled his eyes and chuckled. Everything seemed simpler and better with Scott around. Isaac had to wonder, looking at his boyfriend staring back at him lovingly, what could possibly go wrong when Scott McCall was around. Scott took that as a sign that the sulk was over, and immediately rolled over and straddled his boyfriend, sitting right on his groin and pinning his hands at the sides of his head.

“What do you want now?” Isaac tried to feign indignation, but failed.

“Just to remind you that I don’t like it when you’re sulking,” Scott said with a teasing smile.

Isaac rolled his eyes even more, but his wide grin clearly told Scott that Isaac was already feeling better.

“I mean it,” Scott insisted, seriously this time. “I don’t like it when you do that.”

“I know,” Isaac nodded.

Scott gave him a megawatt smile and landed a big kiss on Isaac.

“Come on, let’s go and have breakfast,” Isaac tried to wriggle out of his boyfriend’s grip. But something mischievous sparkled in Scott’s eye.

“Not yet,” he teased as he grinded himself on Isaac.

“Scott…” Isaac grinned. He might have thrusted his hips up as he said that.

“Isaac…” Scott replied in the same tone.

“Do I have to remind you about the man with the guns?” Isaac whispered through a smile. “The one who sleeps across the _corridor_?”

“Nah,” Scott grinned as he leant closer and kissed Isaac again.

***

Scott was more than happy to see Isaac cheerful in the morning, all the anguish and anxiety that came with the bad dream were gone. Even if he knew this was surely just a temporary relief, he was delighted that his boyfriend was not gloomy and moody.

They had breakfast with Melissa and Chris before both parents went off to work, which Scott always felt was one of the small things that Isaac secretly loved the most. Isaac did not even moan and complain about how unfair life was when Melissa instructed them to mow the lawn. They finished the garden soon enough, and the two boys had enough time to sprawl on the deck chairs, listening to the radio.

Scott had not expected all to go pear shaped when Isaac’s phone buzzed.

“Who is it?” Scott asked without moving from his chair, his arm covering his eyes.

“It’s Stiles…”

The glacial and distant tone Isaac used was all Scott needed to hear to know that his boyfriend had reverted to his earlier mood. Scott sat up to see Isaac staring at his phone, while scratching his elbow.

“What does he want?” Scott asked with caution.

“Nothing.”

 _Crap_.

Isaac stood up and slowly folded the chair, dragged it to the side of the kitchen door, and walked inside. He could hear Isaac’s phone buzzing with what could only have been more texts by Stiles. Scott suddenly felt a burst of rage, because he did not need his special werewolf bond with Isaac to know that Stiles was really annoying him. But it was Scott’s phone that rang next.

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:22

Yo, y s ur bf not answering me

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:22

?!?!?

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:22

I know hes getting them

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:23

Scott????

<Scott> 08/07/2020 11:23

Do you know what’s wrong with Isaac?

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:23

[message deleted]

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:24

no

<Scott> 08/07/2020 11:24

STILES

<Scott> 08/07/2020 11:24

Has he talked to you?

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:25

Maybe

Scott actually growled this time. He knew Isaac was sulking again in their room, and somehow Stiles was involved. Maybe not involved, but he _knew_ something. Scott did not know if he was getting mad at Isaac for not trusting him enough, or at Stiles for not telling him what he knew about his boyfriend.

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:25

Listen scotty

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:26

I’ll come around n have a chat w him

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:25

k?

<Scott> 08/07/2020 11:26

Stiles, what’s going on

<Scott> 08/07/2020 11:27

Stiles

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:28

sorry can’t tell

<Stiles> 08/07/2020 11:29

see you in a bit xoxo

Scott shoved his phone in his pocket and walked back into the house, and carefully peeked into their room, where Isaac was sitting, looking through a book. Scott knocked.

“Hey…”

“Hi, babe,” Isaac replied, not looking away from the book.

“What are you looking at?” Scott asked as he sat on the bed by Isaac, only to see that he was flicking through a photo album.

“Nothing,” Isaac sighed, closing the album before Scott could see the pictures. But he did not need to – he knew it was an album that Lydia of all people had put together for him before they moved to Davis at the end of the previous summer.

“What did Stiles want?” Scott insisted.

“Nothing…”

“ _Isaac_.”

“Please, drop it, Scott,” Isaac said placing the album back on his shelf. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Isaac, it’s definitely not ‘nothing’,” Scott did not let go.

“I’m going for a walk,” Isaac announced, his eyes low as he walked out from the room.

“Babe?”

“Just… Scott, please. Trust me… I…” Isaac looked at his boyfriend who looked hurt and broken, but his own eyes were already reddening and Isaac might have fought a couple of tears away. “I just need some time to think.”

“Think about what?” Scott was really not happy.

“Trust me, please?” Isaac begged, walking up to Scott and holding their hands together.

“Of course I trust you,” Scott grabbed his hands, so needy that he was getting palpitations.

“I’ll be fine, Scott,” Isaac said softly, closing the gap between them and bringing his boyfriend in for a hug. Immediately their two inner wolves were all over each other reassuringly. When Isaac pushed back, their eyes were glowing ruby red and golden yellow. “I promise. It’s…” he sighed, struggling again to put his words together. “I just need a bit of time.”

“Promise me you’re okay,” Scott begged, his hands still laced behind Isaac’s neck. “That’s all I need to know.”

“I promise,” Isaac replied, resting his forehead on Scott’s. “I love you, Scott.”

“I know, dumbass. I love you too,” Scott said, fighting off his own tears. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah… It’s just a walk.”

“Are you going to talk to Stiles,” Scott probed.

“I’ll try not to,” was Isaac’s mysterious reply.

With one last quick kiss, Isaac dragged his feet out to the street, leaving Scott confused and hurt in equal measure.

***

Jackson was in the living room, enjoying the air con as he watched an old episode of _Teen Vamp_ on his Netflix account while Ethan cooked brunch. Probably something with smoked salmon and poached eggs. Maybe an avocado. But Jackson did not really care. He knew Ethan was a big fan of mid-week fancy brunch when they were on holidays and he was not one to complain. That day was all about being home, enjoying his time off. His dad did not need him in the office, and his mom had decided that she wanted to train for a triathlon, so Jackson could indulge in simple pleasures with his boyfriend. That was, of course, until his phone rang.

Jackson checked the caller ID, and frowned.

“What do you want, McCall?” he answered.

“Hello Scott!” yelled Ethan from the kitchen.

“Hey, Jackson,” Scott said from the other end of the line. “I, err… you busy now?”

“Why…?” Jackson asked, dragging the question, fearing the answer.

“Erm, well… I know… I mean, have you…”

“McCall.” Jackson was not feeling very patient.

“Do you know what’s bothering Isaac?”

“Isaac?”

Jackson did not know, if he was honest. The last time he saw or spoke to the other beta was for their Fourth of July barbeque. That had been only four days ago, and now that Scott brought it up, he suddenly realised how odd that was. Reviving a long-lost childhood friendship, making amends for being a jerk, and sharing a traumatic experience involving aliens and a small deserted French village had done wonders for their bonding even before becoming official packmates. Flags should have gone up when Isaac did not even reply when Liam suggested they all go out for a drink.

“No…” Jackson replied, increasingly concerned and feeling bad for not noticing earlier. “What’s wrong with him?”

Scott sighed, and went on to explain his worries about Isaac. Jackson listened patiently. Soon Ethan quickly sat by Jackson and began to ask the odd question. But even as Scott talked, Jackson could not stop thinking about what might be happening. He did not have the faintest idea of what was going through Isaac’s head, or why he was not telling Scott. The one thing he knew was that Lahey would rather swallow his thoughts and push them deep down rather than trying to vocalise any worries. It would be really annoying if it did not remind him so much of himself.

“Listen, Scott. It took Isaac some three years to talk to someone about what he felt about you,” Jackson explained, remembering what Isaac himself had told him. He bit his tongue before mentioning that it took him four to tell anyone about his dad… and he told _Derek_. “It’s been two weeks since his exam, and two weeks full of awful reminders about what happened last year.”

“But why doesn’t he talk about it?” Scott still could not understand. “Why is he pushing me away?”

“Not everyone is as vocal as you, McCall.”

“Do you want us to talk to him?” Ethan offered, guessing that was what Scott really wanted.

“Would you do that?” Scott’s tone was sickeningly hopeful.

“We’ll try,” Jackson offered after a pause. It was the least he could do.

***

Isaac walked out of the McCall house and turned right, simply because it was downhill. He did not know where he was going, but he just needed _out_. In his dream Stiles had said that they needed to talk about the Dreamlands when they were awake. But surely that had been just Isaac’s dream, right? All the conversation, all the weird shit, all the apparent certainty that he had felt in the dream had been just that… a dream. _Right_? Then why would Stiles text him in the morning telling him that they needed to talk about the previous night? There had been no previous night! Isaac had not seen Stiles…

He was startled away from his thoughts by the noise of tires screeching on the road and an old car breaking to a halt. When Isaac looked to see what had happened, he clenched his fists and suppressed a groan.

“Stop it there, Lahey!” Stiles called from Lydia’s car. Liam was sitting by his side, looking less than impressed. “We need to talk.”

“Talk about what, exactly?” Isaac wanted to know.

“You know…” Stiles got off the car and walked towards the werewolf.

“No, Stiles,” defied Isaac, seeping anger. Liam could smell it, so he jumped out of the car. Just in case. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Don’t you now?” Stiles snorted. Liam looked anxiously at Isaac, fearing his friend might lash out any second.

“No, I _don’t_.”

Isaac was _angry_ , which made Liam slightly scared. Normally when the taller werewolf was annoyed he would make a snarky sassy comment, cock his head, and chuckle – but now he was positively radiating rage.

“The fact that you’re acting all weird and refusing to answer my calls or my text tells me that…” Stiles insisted, waving his hands around his friend in a way that only could mean that he was not buying Isaac’s denial. He was not scared of werewolves that much anymore. He had dealt with _Derek_. “You know what I mean and don’t even try to pretend you don’t.”

For an instant Isaac seriously considered punching Stiles out cold, but Liam noticed.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there,” the beta jumped up, eyes wide, and putting his hands on Isaac’s shoulders. “No need for that.”

“Liam, don’t tell me you are actually on it with him,” Isaac spat.

“I’m tired of the moody werewolf crap,” Stiles kept playing with fire. “Get in the car and let’s have a civilised chat. There is something I need to show you.”

Isaac was still fuming, and very ready to knock Stiles into next week, but Liam reached out to him with his inner wolf. From the outside, Stiles could only see Liam holding Isaac’s elbows, as both closed their eyes, and their breathing synchronised. Stiles was certain that their hearts would also be beating as one. He had read enough about werewolf bonds to know what was happening. In a second, both werewolves separated, and Isaac was looking less murderous as he silently climbed into the car.

“What did you just do?” Stiles wondered curiously as he drove them away.

“What do you mean?” Liam asked when Isaac purposefully refused to answer.

“That bonding calming down stuff. I know what it is, but I’ve never seen you do it.”

“Yes you have,” Liam began to protest.

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes you _have_. You even took the piss, saying we looked cute.”

“When?” Stiles was now really puzzled.

“I thought you _remembered_ our dreams,” Isaac scoffed.

“I _do_ … but I don’t remember that… Should I be remembering that?”

Isaac turned around to look at Stiles and then back to look at Liam. Isaac remembered. Liam remembered. Why did Stiles not? That had been just before they crossed the ring of fire into the Dreamlands… The same time that Stiles produced the portal, and the same time that Stiles then disappeared through it, only to run to them from behind not knowing what had just happened. The confused expression on Liam was mirrored by that of Isaac, who closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as he sat back.

“Fine…” Isaac gave up. “We need to talk.”

A few minutes later, they were in Liam’s house, away from prying werewolf ears or otherwise nosy girlfriends and parents – naming no sheriffs. Stiles had brought with him all his photocopies and print-outs alongside five different booklets with colour-coded post-it notes and paragraphs highlighted in neon orange and green.

Liam lobbed Isaac a can of orange soda, which he caught without even looking while Stiles did his usual pacing around while thinking aloud.

“I thought you had something to tell us?” Isaac jabbed Stiles once Liam sat down, not hiding that he would rather be anywhere else at that very moment.

“Isaac, please knock it off,” Liam pleaded. “I actually think it is important that we talk about this.”

“ _We_ ’re talking. _He_ ’s thinking aloud incoherently,” Isaac pointed.

“I _am_ going to explain something,” Stiles said. “I just… just need to put my thoughts in order.”

Isaac turned to look at Liam with his smug grin that said clearly ‘I told you so’.

“Ok, listen,” Stiles said before the two werewolves could bitch any more. “We have talked about the three levels of dreaming, and about our shared loop, right?”

Neither of the werewolves agreed, but their silence was all the acknowledgement Stiles needed.

“We have to assume that we are (for whatever reason) dreamwalkers. If you’ve seen any of the _Matrix_ movies, or _Inception_ , then forget all about that – this is a much more esoteric type of dream world. A separate dimension connected to ours. It all boils down to ‘we need to find the keys’ with a side of ‘how amazing is that we have access to the Dreamlands’. Yes, Liam?” Stiles closed his eyes when he saw Liam putting his hand up.

“What has Nyarlathotep got to do with all this?”

“Yeah, Stiles,” Isaac asked, his sudden wolfish smile unsettling Stiles. “Why is it that all of this is happening a year after all that malarkey with the Outer God of Doom – the same one who, for full disclosure, called me a dreamwalker when we were fighting at the nemeton?”

Isaac took a long sip from his can, while his two friends looked at him in disbelief.

“ _He_ called you _what_?” Stiles managed to ask after a few failed babbling attempts.

“Dreamwalker. Amongst other things…” Isaac answered casually. “Wolf knight was another. He said something about a wolf star too. Oh, and that I still had some sort of future destiny unfulfilled and that I needed to finish my path...”

“And you never thought about telling me anything?”

“Why should I tell _you_ , Stiles?” Isaac sat forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Okay, okay, okay…” Stiles stammered as he tried to put his wrecked train of thought together after Isaac’s revelation. “Okay, cool, cool, cool, okay…”

“ _Stiles_ …”

“Yeah, okay, sorry. So… let’s start from the _very_ beginning. Since when have we been having odd dreams?”

Slowly and painfully, Stiles extracted from Liam and Isaac their turbid and troubled dreaming history just as he told his own. It became soon clear that they all had been suffering an increasing number of vivid dreams during the last year, reaching a peak in the last two weeks. Stiles pulled his notes, and scribbled more things as his friends spoke.

They also had to compare notes on what they had experienced with Nyarlathotep. Liam had no confessions on that side, so he could only sit back and listen with terror to what his friends had gone through without telling anyone. Not even Scott. Isaac explained how he had had an encounter with the Outer God during their fight at the nemeton, that he had told Isaac that the werewolf still had a destiny lined out for him, that he had a path to walk. That he was a descendant of heroes marked by the wolf star. Isaac had to explain also his dream/regression about the time he saw the wolf star and with his brother. Stiles wrote everything down.

When Isaac finished his tales of last summer, Stiles explained his own parallel story. He struggled to explain what he had seen when Nyarlathotep (in his persona of Terry, the friendly book seller) took him and Lydia to a room behind the bookshop _which also was millions of years in the past in Australia_. He stammered through his story more than usual, and his knee never stopped bouncing as he remembered the vision planted in his brain and the maddening conversation, but in the end he explained how he had also been told that Scott was a champion of the Gods of Earth, and that Isaac was the one with an interesting future.

With those pieces together, they could only wonder if their dream walking capabilities were something Nyarlathotep had done to them, but all of Stiles’ notes said that the Dreams were the realm of the Gods of Earth, and that the Outer God did not meddle with them. All of them had, in any case, a pre-encounter history of odd and weird dreams, which was the only explanation they could come across as to why it was just the three of them sharing their dream loop.

After, there were many questions about the nemeton, about the mi-go, and about the cultists, but those were things that they all had discussed as a pack, and none of those threads had ever led them to anywhere near the Dreamlands.

“I still do not see why we should really find these keys and cross through those gates,” Isaac huffed.

“There is a voice calling for _you_ ,” Stiles deadpanned. “You said you knew that voice.”

“Oh, hang on,” Isaac mocked, putting a hand to his ear as if he were trying to hear something. “I think I can hear Terry the friendly book seller, asking everyone in town to gather around him for a day in the park to _murder_ each other because of some flying alien fungi.”

“Nothing in the occult tomes that deal with the Dreamlands mentions ever outer gods in them. It’s like a safe space!” Stiles argued, ignoring the sarcasm.

Isaac did not bother with a verbal answer. He just opened his eyes wide and cocked his head to a side with the flat smile that he knew Stiles hated so much.

“I think that if we refuse this chance to enter the Dreamlands we’ll be missing out on something,” Liam explained. “And if you have some sort of destiny lined out in front of you,” he pointed at Isaac, “I doubt you will be able to escape it. Just look at Oedipus.”

Stiles and Isaac looked at Liam with renewed interest, as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“What? I took Classical Civ,” Liam replied, shifting uncomfortably on his seat, as if that explained everything. “Oedipus’ dad heard the prophecy that his son would take over his kingdom with only one sandal and kill him, so he got rid of him. But it still happened and Oedipus then slept with his mum.”

Isaac and Stiles remained silent. There was nothing they could argue against that logic.

Eventually they seemed to reach some conclusions: that their dreams would not go away, that they could not reach the Dreamlands yet if they did want to, and that they did not know what Nyarlathotep’s involvement was, and that they did not want to know anything about destinies – no matter how ‘safe’ the Dreamlands were. None of them actually said anything about telling the rest of the pack, but their silent consensus was to keep it quiet for the time being – only the three of them could do anything in the Dreamlands, and there was no point in looking for a physical entrance for the rest to meddle. They did not even know if non-dreamers would even _enter_ in such a way.

During the afternoon, Isaac ignored a couple of texts from Jackson and Ethan, but at least sent one to Scott to say that he was with Stiles and Liam so he would not worry too much.

Eventually Liam said that his mother was sure to arrive soon, and that they should either relocate, or bring their meeting to an end – not because his mum did not like the pack, but rather because he did not feel like explaining why they had covered the living room with notes and papers. Isaac agreed, simply because he did not want to talk about that any more. Stiles had to concede, but warned his two friends that they were not done with the subject, and that they would most probably meet that night in their sleep.

“Great,” Isaac moaned. “I can’t get rid of you.”

***

Isaac got back home and had dinner with Scott and Chris. They watched a film together in the living room, Isaac clutched and curled around Scott for some physical reassurance (Scott was happy to oblige), but he went off to bed before the movie was even over, embracing the inevitability that he was up for another dream that night.

When he opened his eyes, Isaac was sat in a plane next to Scott. They had just been given a basket full of honey-roast cashews and a can of beer. The flight attendant told them that the hot wings would be coming in a second and Scott thanked her.

“Where are we going, babe?” Isaac asked, only slightly confused.

“What do you mean? We’re going to France, of course!” Scott said with a big smile as he grabbed Isaac’s hand and squeezed it. “You always are talking about your old place, and now you’re finally showing us around your village!”

“France? But my village is all but abandoned, you know… the nemeton and the cultists?” Isaac asked in a low voice, in case any of the other passengers were cultists. “And who’s ‘we’?”

“Well… you and me, and then Stiles, and Liam who are somewhere behind. And then your big bro is coming,” Scott said with his big smile before turning to look out of the window.

“Wait-what? _Cam_ is here?”

“Yeah? You said earlier he was coming? I think he’s sitting up ahead, but we haven’t met yet,” Scott sounded slightly offended, as if Isaac was embarrassed of him.

Isaac immediately stood up in the aisle and looked around him. In front of him there were many rows, full of passengers. He looked left, towards the aft of the plane, and he could see Stiles and Liam talking to each other across the aisle.

“Stiles! Liam!” Isaac called, feeling cold sweat pearling his forehead. “Stiles! Cam is _here_!”

“ _Next stop Bégnan – Bégnan is the next stop,_ ” a voice called over the PA. “ _Passengers leaving the plane here please remember to take all your belongings with you. Bégnan is our next stop._ ”

When Isaac looked ahead he saw the front half of the plane standing up and opening the lockers to get their suitcases and coats. Among all of the faces of the people moving up and down Isaac recognised one; a face he had not seen in years, and one he never thought he would see again: his brother Camden. He was exactly as he remembered him, even if it had been _years_ since he enlisted and left him alone with his dad. Tall and broad shouldered, light brown and wavy hair, greenish blue eyes and a stubble that had more ginger than brown.

Isaac was so excited and confused that he zoned out. He could not think; he did not register any of the sounds around him. He could only look ahead. His brother was _there_!

“Isaac, can you hear me?” the voice of Liam finally got through. “What about your brother?”

“He’s… he’s there, Liam!” Isaac’s voice was trembling.

The plane was by then already touching down on the ground. Isaac saw Scott looking intently out the window, through which he could see a long beach and a promenade. Isaac tried to reach his brother, but there were too many people getting their bags and coats, blocking the aisle. Frustration began to choke him. He could not reach his brother, even if he was only a few metres away. He did not care if it was a dream, or a tormented memory resurfacing. He just needed to get to him. To talk to him…

The plane shook as the wheels connected with the rail tracks, coming to a halt with a strained train noise.

“Scott! Liam!” he called for help. “Please, don’t let him go!”

“Come on, Isaac,” Stiles said with determination, hating the desperate needy look Isaac had. “Let’s push through. Liam, go on.”

The three of them tried to plough through the crowd, but to no avail. Isaac could only see Cam standing up, getting his backpack and walking out of the plane on to the platform. More and more people poured from the seats onto the aisle, completely blocking Isaac’s advance, and by the time the doors closed and the plane/train was moving again, Cam had walked away from the station onto the beach. Isaac could only look out the glass, tears running down his cheeks, and wave his brother goodbye.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Scott asked when he saw the wreck his boyfriend had become.

“Cam! Cam was here!” Isaac babbled. “And now he’s gone! _Again_!”

Dreamy Scott tried to console his boyfriend, but Isaac was not registering. In his head he could only curse and blame himself for not doing enough to stop and find his brother.

“Press the button,” Stiles ordered.

“What?” Liam asked. “What button?”

“The button, the button!” Stiles said as he pointed at the red plastic button that said ‘request stop.’

Liam quickly pressed it, and a bell rang from the front of the plane. A few minutes later, the plane got to another station, and Stiles and Liam dragged a still moping Isaac out, leaving Scott behind.

They jumped out and they saw the plane going down the train tracks into a busy city. They were in a roundabout, surrounded by tall buildings painted in red and white, with lush trees in the corners, and a small café looking into the square.

“Chin up, man,” Liam tried to cheer up his friend. “We’ll find your brother! He can’t have gone far?”

“Yeah,” Stiles added. “Forget about our meeting. We need to find your brother.”

“But- but- it’s just a dream, right?” Isaac stammered.

“It does not matter,” Liam smiled. “I won’t let you have such an awful sleep. I can’t see you so upset… Not if I can help it.”

Isaac and Stiles looked at Liam with surprise. He definitely was spending too much time with Scott.

“Yeah,” Stiles added with a nod. “We’re pack, right?”

Liam nodded with a smile, putting a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. The other beta smiled despite himself as he sniffed.

“Let’s go and find him then,” Liam concluded.

The three friends walked down the road along the train tracks towards the beach, which seemed much further than what they had thought at first. Liam and Stiles asked Isaac about his brother, and Isaac went silent for a few seconds before answering.

“He was my brother… I don’t know what else to say. I love him. I miss him…” Isaac managed to say. “He hated _The Catcher in the Rye_ , he preferred waffles to pancakes, and bananas made him sick – which is why I won’t eat them either. He once cut my hair and made an awful mess. My mum was fuming because this was just before one of our cousin’s wedding, but my dad was laughing so much.”

“When we were little we were together _all_ the time. Like proper me tagging along everywhere: when he went to swimming practice, when he went to play with his friends… But he didn’t mind having a little brother around. We used to have a great time. Especially with mum.” Isaac refused to talk about his father, even if his memories from back then were not that bad.

Liam and Stiles simply nodded, and let their friend keep on talking – he seemed to need it.

“But then he went to high school and it seemed as if he didn’t need a little brother following him everywhere anymore. He was a big boy now, right?” Isaac chuckled. “But then it was when my mum got ill. And he was the big brother, and dad did not really tell me much; he was too distressed and too focused on her, so it was Cam who had to explain things to me. Then we were again very close, but… you know… it was not the same.”

Liam and Stiles looked at each other, and then at Isaac, who kept his gloomy eyes low as they walked along the dream street towards the beach.

“When mum died, dad… dad… well, you know,” Isaac quickly dismissed. “And Cam seemed to take the worst of it. He told me he was going to enlist; he told me he would save for us to move away… He had a plan for us to set up a farm, or our own shop. Lahey Brothers or something. But that it would be the two of us together again. I hated that he had to leave, but he promised he’d be back, and I had to believe… I knew he would be back. I knew he would not leave me… which was the only thing that kept me sane when…”

Isaac stopped. He sat on a bench that looked over the beach as the sun set into the waves. Stiles and Liam sat at either side, hands resting comfortingly on his shoulders. Liam even nuzzled his nose on Isaac’s shoulder.

“I had his dog tags,” Isaac said through a broken voice. “But I lost them…”

As he said that, Isaac suddenly felt the chain burning his neck.

“Isaac?” he heard Liam’s voice asking. Or maybe it was Stiles. Isaac was not listening. He could only feel the burning sensation of his brother’s dog tags weighing down his neck.

Isaac slowly patted his chest, where he felt two hot metallic objects hanging from a chain. He began to unbutton his shirt only to reveal, instead of his brother’s tags, two large bronze keys.

 _Zac_. A voice called from the setting sun. _Zac_.

Stiles looked at the keys, his eyes wide open, and then he looked at Isaac and at the sunset. He also heard the voice calling for his friend.

“Isaac?”

“That’s my brother…”

_Zac!_

“That’s Cam?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun! ANy thoughts so far?


	15. Home is where the tags are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac had not been in his old room in years. When he was a fugitive, Derek had walked in to gather a few of his belongings, taking them back to the train depot. But ever since he had never had a chance or a reason to go back. And now he was there. He could not help feeling emotional.
> 
> OR: Isaac has a few days of peace and calm with Scott and the pack, but a trip to the old Lahey house triggers emotional memories

Isaac woke up in the middle of the night. He managed to do it without disturbing Scott, who was blissfully drooling face down on his pillow. He sat up and looked out the window. The full moon was approaching, and he could feel his skin crawling and his inner wolf feeling overexcited.

He had seen his brother in his dream. Not in any normal dream, but one of his overly vivid dreams which he shared with Liam and Stiles. Isaac was happy to accept that he could dream about Camden (he missed him after all, it was normal), but hearing him calling out his name, and the odd connection between his dog tags and those fucking bronze keys was too much. Why would his brother give him the keys? Why would his dreaming mind torture him like that? Or was it something else? If Nyarlathotep wanted to have some fun at his expense with all that bullshit about destiny and dream walking, Isaac was not going to indulge.

None of this was happening. He was Isaac Lahey. He was a flipping _werewolf_. He could carve his own destiny. He decided what was real. He would focus on his boyfriend and his family and his job. _Dreams are dreams and no more_. He had got over his dad’s voice telling him what to do – damn right he could do that with his own dreams.

***

Chris and Melissa were having dinner home that night. Chris had not prepared anything fancy, just some cold cuts of the roast chicken they had the night before with some salad, but he was going to open one of his special bottles of wine.

“Christopher Argent,” she said as she heard the cork popping behind her. She was already sitting down. “What have you got in mind?”

“What do you mean what have I got in mind?”

“You rarely open one of your bottles of contraband wine without a reason,” she teased accusingly as she turned around to look at him, her arm over the back of the chair. “Let me guess.”

“Mel…” he said with a smile as he poured two glasses.

“No, no, let me guess,” she insisted. “You are still here, so there is no major crisis. The phone has not been ringing like mad, so it has nothing to do with your relatives in France. You have not been emptying the garage, so it is not a big fat juicy company sale…”

Chris chuckled as they clinked their glasses and sipped the wine.

“Why would you think—“

“Uttt! Wait,” Melissa insisted. “I’m going to get this right.” She took a long sip of her wine while Chris tucked in. “Is it about the wedding? _Ohmygoodness_ , you secured the old mission!”

Melissa had been nagging Chris about the old Spanish mission, where her grandmother insisted that they should get married, but Chris had said that he would take care of everything and keeping it all very secret.

“It is not that, and I said that I would not tell you,” he smiled. “That will be a surprise.”

Melissa glared at him, but he just sniggered as he ate.

“Ok, fine. Then it must be—“

Before she could venture any other guess, the front door opened. She looked quizzically at Chris, who had a dead serious expression on his face. Chris and Melissa heard two pairs of feet stomping into the house, followed by the door being shut, and a combination of ‘Hi mom’, ‘Hi Melissa’ and ‘Hi Chris’. They then heard two pairs of shoes flying off their respective feet, then a race up the stairs, and then a final slamming of a bedroom door.

“Ah…. I think I know…”

“How old are they again?” Chris asked rhetorically.

“You don’t really mean to kick them out of the house?” Melissa asked in reply.

“I am not saying that, Mel,” he tried to calm her down. She knew he would never kick the boys out, although she had her reservations about what would happen to Scott if he hurt Isaac in any way. “But isn’t it a bit weird that both our sons are still sleeping here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they are twenty-two. They are both working. One in college as well. They are lovely boys, but shouldn’t they live on their own?”

“They _do_ live on their own,” Melissa said, leaving her fork on the table, and crossing her hands over her lap. “They live in Davis most of the year. Do you find them so insufferable during the few weeks they spend here?”

As if on cue, loud videogame music and noises came down from the boys’ room, ruining the ambience of calm dinner date Chris had been aiming for.

“You know that if you tell them to keep it quiet they will, right?” she insisted.

“I know that, Mel. And you know I love them both.”

“What is your problem then?”

“I was thinking that they don’t have to stay _here_ when they come to Beacon Hills.”

“So you want our sons to stay in a _hotel_ whenever they come to visit their parents? You want to kick Isaac out when he’s having a difficult week?”

Neither Melissa nor Chris knew what was going on with Isaac, but it was impossible not to notice how he had been moody and cranky in the mornings, and distant and worried during the rest of the days. Scott had not told them anything, but he had been very clearly putting up a brave face, trying very hard not to make Isaac feel worse – whatever the reason was.

“No, Mel, please,” this was getting way out of Chris’ control. He had everything planned, and the plan had sunk faster than a rock. “What I am _trying_ to say is that perhaps they could have a place of their own here in Beacon Hills.”

“Chris, they are struggling as it is to pay for their place in Davis. I know Isaac is willing to work for free just to pay you back for all your help through these years… They cannot afford to rent another apartment here.”

“Well,” he said with a sly smile. “That is why I opened, as you pointed out, _my_ wine. I have an idea and I still have, after all, _my_ old apartment.”

Melissa’s indignation faded as she considered Chris’ proposal more seriously. She took another sip of her wine, and Chris took this as his instruction to elaborate on his proposal.

“I am sure they would appreciate their own space?”

“But I like having the boys here!”

At that moment, Scott and Isaac began to boo and woo at their videogame. Chris arched an eyebrow.

“They will still be around. Don’t you believe for a _second_ that they will not be here every time they think they can get away with free food,” Chris joked.

A rumbling came down the stairs and a few seconds later Isaac walked into the kitchen, looking meekly at the couple having dinner.

“Hi, Chris; hi, Mel,” he said as he grabbed a large bag of tortilla chips and raided the fridge for a jar of guacamole. “You ok? That dinner looks nice. Oh… and there’s wine out. What are we celebrating?” he added as he munched on the chips.

Chris looked at Melissa with a smug face, but she just looked at Isaac with a pensive expression, clearly thinking about the conversation she just had with her fiancé.

“What?” the werewolf said. “Was I interrupting? I _was_ interrupting. I’m very sorry I was interrupting,” Isaac was suddenly blushing, feeling chastised even if nobody said a thing.

Melissa looked back at Chris and gave him the slightest of nods, followed by a small smile as she ate from her plate deliberately slowly.

“Don’t worry, Isaac,” Chris said. “In fact, I actually wanted to ask _you_ a question. Sit down,” he instructed, and the werewolf did as told.

“Scott!” Isaac did not break eye contact with his adoptive father when he called Scott over his shoulder, knowing that his boyfriend could still hear him. “Come down, please, babe? Chris is scaring me.”

Melissa supressed a chuckle.

“Hey, hello. What’s going on?” Scott asked when he walked into the kitchen, smiling too keenly.

“Sit down, Scott, I have something to tell you.”

Scott looked at Isaac, and understood why he was scared. Chris had something in mind, and somehow it involved both of them. Both had supernatural werewolf hearing, and they could have picked up on their conversation from their bedroom, but they had decided long ago not to do that when they were home – their parents needed their privacy.

“Your mother and I have been thinking—“

“Mom?” Scott blurted without letting Chris finish.

“Listen to Chris,” she dismissed him. “I promise you’ll like the idea.”

“First of all,” Chris continued, “we are not kicking you out—“

“Chris!” Melissa scolded the hunter, who should have known better than to start with that.

“You’re kicking us out!” Scott shouted as he stood up. Isaac went pale and wide-eyed for a second, until Scott noticed it and put his hand on his shoulder.

“I said we are _not_ kicking you out!”

“And yet it feels there is going to be a big ‘but’ up next!” Scott retorted.

“Scott, sit down,” his mother said calmly. “Just listen, ok?”

“Let me start again,” Chris said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your mother and I were thinking that perhaps you would prefer to have your own place when you come to visit us in Beacon Hills.”

“And you are welcome to come and visit anytime you want,” she added to reassure the boys, who were still shocked.

“So what about I give you these,” Chris said as he placed a set of keys on the table before Scott or Isaac could say anything.

“What are those?” Scott asked with suspicion, still not happy with this situation.

“Those are the keys to Allison’s apartment,” Isaac whispered, speaking for the first time.

“Wait- what?” Scott uttered. “You’re giving us an _apartment_? _Your_ old apartment?” A small smile was forming on his face.

“Is this some sort of weird wedding present?” Isaac intervened. “You know that’s not how it’s supposed to work. _We_ should get you something.”

“This has nothing to do with the wedding, don’t worry,” Chris replied. “We just thought that maybe you’d enjoy having some privacy...”

Isaac went beet colour at the implication, but Scott was quick and accepted immediately.

“That would be amazing! Thank you, Chris!”

“We will pay you rent,” Isaac added seriously.

“No need for that.”

Isaac looked at Scott for a second, both boys mouths agape. Scott cupped Isaac’s face in his hands and gave him a quick kiss on his lips, which Isaac soon returned. They were smiling wide when they separated, and they went to hug and thank Chris and Melissa for that amazing present.

“What about all your things,” Isaac suddenly realised that Chris’ stuff was probably still mostly there, even if he had been ferrying his possessions to the McCall house slowly during the last few years.

“It should all be empty,” he said with a sad smile.

“What about…” Isaac dared not finish the sentence. Scott was looking at him with sad soft brown eyes. Through their shared bond both werewolves experienced the same sting of guilt and pain and memories, thinking about how they were going to move into Allison’s old place. Their inner wolves nuzzled each other for comfort.

For that entire family Allison was still a sore memory.

“They are all packed away,” Chris said, staring into his glass of wine, his shoulders suddenly slouching under an invisible weight. “They’re… they… I had them stored away,” he swallowed.

Before the werewolves and the hunter could relapse further into painful memories, Melissa stood up and brought her three men into a tight hug. She heard a couple of them sniffing, and she felt Scott rubbing his face into Isaac’s neck. After patting their backs for a few seconds she pushed them away,

“Now, I’m having none of that. Come on, we are celebrating that our boys are moving out!” She added cheerfully, planting a kiss on her son’s head. She then looked at Chris intently and the hunter rolled his eyes before fetching two more wineglasses.

***

It was late in the morning when Isaac and Scott walked into the Argents’ old apartment (into _their_ new apartment) with Chris and Melissa. Number 402.

“You really have gone for the ‘clean slate’ vibe there, Chris,” Isaac commented as he walked down the almost empty rooms.

“I have moved most of our old stuff to the loft, and all my work bits are in my new office.”

“You mean, my old room?” Isaac asked.

“You mean, _my_ old spare room,” Melissa clarified with a smirk. Isaac apologised as Scott giggled.

“Chris, I- I- I don’t think we are going to need all of this space!” Scott said once he saw the size of the apartment. He had been too quick to accept Mr Argent’s offer, but it had been ages since he had been there. It had a comfortable living/dining room and a spacious kitchen, but it also had two bedrooms and an office. “This is way bigger than our little place in Davis!”

“Just take it for the time being,” Chris insisted. “When you finish college you may stay there, or go to San Francisco, or beyond,” Melissa straightened and pulled a face of disapproval, clearly not liking the idea of her boys moving away from her for good. “But you may decide to come back to Beacon Hills. And if you do, you’ll need something better than a student flat.”

Scott did not answer, as he and Isaac were simply inspecting the flat silently. The beta sensed the alpha’s concern (and a hint of apprehension), but he tried to transmit confidence and hope through their bond. Isaac really liked the place, and he had an emotional connection with it. Scott nodded slowly, but did not say anything.

The office looked huge without Chris’ impressive hardwood desk and its ominous Celtic knot inlay. It was eerie to see the shelves so empty, and the walls bare of the Argent’s framed pictures. Isaac remembered there had been a lush plant somewhere there, but it had long ago died and dried. The same could be said of the bedrooms: the beds, desks and wardrobes were gone, and so were all the clothes and decorations. Scott soon realised where all those new paintings and cushions that had been appearing in his house over the last years had come from.

“Can we change the curtains?” Isaac asked from the main bedroom.

“Sure,” Chris replied from the living room.

“And can we paint the walls?” he added, already thinking about forest greens.

“Yes, of course.”

Isaac popped his head through the door and looked sheepishly at Chris and Melissa.

“What do you think?” asked Melissa.

“I think I like it,” Isaac nodded slowly.

“I like it too. Thank you Chris!” Scott said when he walked into the living room. “Thank you so much! Are you sure you are going to be okay, mum?”

“Well, let’s just try it out this summer,” Melissa concluded smugly as she pinched Scott’s cheeks and gave him a quick kiss.

Later that evening, Scott and Isaac had brought all of their stuff from Melissa’s house (plus a brand new bed) to their new Beacon Hills home. It was not as if they had much there anyways: most of their clothes were in Davis, but they still had books, old posters, games, an Xbox and a _lot_ of old lacrosse gear. It did not take them much to unpack anyways.

Scott was happy with the new apartment, and thrilled that Isaac was so focused and excited about their new home that seemed to have forgotten about the stress that had made him so sullen in the last days.

“Why did we bring all these crosses?” Isaac asked pointing at the lacrosse sticks.

“Because Mom went on a cleaning spree of the attic as well. She has seen too much DIY shows on the TV and is getting ideas of what to do.”

Isaac arched an eyebrow quizzically, and Scott just shook his head with a dismissive smirk.

“Scott?” Isaac asked gingerly after a too long silent pause. “Chris also gave me this.”

Isaac pulled a thick envelope from one of the boxes with his old stuff and handed it over to Scott. Scott took it but did not open it, because Isaac suddenly looked up at him, confused.

“What’s this?” the alpha asked cautiously.

“Those are the papers for my old house,” Isaac muttered as he sat on the bed, eyes fixed on his socks.

Scott sat by him and grabbed his hand. Neither of them had been to the old Lahey house in years. The closest they had been to it was whenever they visited Jackson, who lived opposite.

“I don’t want to move in there,” Isaac deadpanned before Scott could ask.

“I was not going to say that,” he admitted. After a pause, he added, “but you want to do something about it?”

“Well… It’s a big house. It’s a nice house. But it’s old and has not been kept properly. I am still paying taxes over it—“

“What?”

“Chris has been paying most of them, but I cannot take any more of his money. That’s why I had an idea, and I wanted to ask you for your opinion.”

“Of course, babe! You know you can count on me for anything.”

Isaac finally looked up and into Scott’s smiling brown eyes. Isaac felt a warm feeling growing again in his chest, and he felt his inner wolf waggling his tail and nudging him in encouragement.

“I was thinking that perhaps we could, you know…” Isaac’s eyes went down to his feet again, but he held Scott’s hand tightly. “We could maybe sort it out? Like, we could fix it and paint it and empty it and sell it. Or maybe just rent it and get some steady money in. I don’t know… It’s just an idea…”

“Have you mentioned this to Chris?”

“I have?”

“And what does he say?”

Isaac swallowed and took a deep breath. He fell back onto the bed and Scott followed suit, turning on his side to look lovingly at his boyfriend while Isaac stared at the ceiling.

“He thinks it’s a good idea, but that it’s a difficult time for Beacon Hills and that I should not sell it.”

“It’s your old family home,” Scott added softly. “Whatever happened there later, it’s where your family memories are, right?”

Isaac hardly spoke about his family life – not even with Scott. The alpha knew more about Isaac’s past from what Jackson had revealed than from his boyfriend’s own mouth. That saddened him, because he wished he could know more about it, but he never pried. Scott gave Isaac a quick kiss on his shoulder as he snugged closer to him.

“Do you think that’d be a fun summer project?” Isaac asked without looking at his boyfriend, playing with their interlaced fingers. “Go in there, empty it, and fix it?”

“If that’s what you want, Isaac, that’s what we’ll do,” Scott concluded, beaming like a sun when Isaac looked up at him. “We’ll go in there, and get your old stuff back—“

“And Cam’s,” interrupted Isaac, the thought suddenly crossing his mind, and Inner Wolf agreed immediately.

“— _and_ Cam’s.”

The two werewolves kissed softly, and Scott brought Isaac in for a hug.

That night Isaac had the best sleep he had had in a month.

***

Scott and Isaac spent the next few days fitting and sorting their apartment, getting second hand furniture (Isaac would not trust Scott to assemble any flat-pack furniture), painting walls and sorting out utilities. By Friday evening the apartment was completely finished.

Isaac looked at Scott, who simply smiled back. They were lying in bed after scrubbing themselves clean from paint and saw dust. It was perfect, and Isaac was happy. Then, the beta rolled over until he was on top of Scott, pinning his boyfriend’s hands over his head and keeping his hips grinding together.

“You’re amazing,” Isaac whispered with a lusty smirk. “You know that?”

“And you’re _fit_ ,” Scott replied with a chuckle.

Isaac leant down to kiss Scott deeply and passionately, as he felt both of them getting hot under their clothes. Isaac brought his hand down to Scott’s chest, slipping it under his t-shirt as he pressed himself against Scott, who let go a moan through a smile. Then Isaac abruptly stopped. Scott popped his head up and rolled his eyes. Isaac got off of him and Scott sat up, giving his boyfriend a quick peck as he put his hand inside his trousers one last time.

The doorbell rang.

“Urgh…!” Isaac complained, burying his face in a pillow. “Why is your pack so _annoying_?”

“ _You_ invited them!” Scott laughed.

“Yeah, but I was hoping they’d forget and leave us _alone_?” Isaac tried to slide his hand under Scott’s shirt, but the alpha slapped it away.

“Come on, handsome,” he kissed his boyfriend, who was looking chastised after having his hand slapped. “I know you miss them. And they are bringing us dinner.”

As Isaac and Scott tried to make themselves presentable, the doorbell rang again. Through the door, they heard Malia saying ‘open up, we know what you’re up to’ soon followed by Stiles moaning about how he did not need to know.

Isaac and Scott opened the door together, and in came Malia, Lydia, Stiles and Mason in a row. They all exchanged hugs and welcomes, and they headed to the living room.

“You’re gonna need this,” Malia said, giving Scott a large and heavy box.

“What’s that?” Isaac asked.

“Just wait,” Mason smiled.

“Yeah, Isaac. This is now the Alpha Residence, which means _this_ has become the pack headquarters,” Stiles joked and winked, “which means we’ll be here _a lot_.”

Isaac looked at Stiles for an intense second, and immediately noticed that behind the party façade he was putting up, Stiles was still worried and concerned. Isaac had been actively eluding him, refusing to talk about any sort of connection between his brother, the Gates, and the keys, to Stiles’ great frustration. But neither of them was ready to bring the topic up, so they just glared in silence, pretending everything was ok.

“Babe, they got us a twelve-people plate set!” Scott shouted excited behind him. “Why?”

“How many plates did you have until now?” Lydia patted Scott’s shoulder lightly.

“Four?”

“Precisely, McCall. _Precisely_.”

A few minutes later Ethan and Liam came carrying an obscene amount of Chinese takeaway, followed by Jackson plus a crate of beers.

“Come here, big boy!” Ethan said with a big smile the moment he saw Isaac, and pulled him into a big hug, which the taller beta was happy to return.

“Get off him, it’s my turn,” Jackson said, pulling Ethan away and demanding his own hug from Isaac. He had been meaning to talk to Isaac ever since Scott had called him saying how worried he was, but the other beta had been as stubborn as predicted, and had been avoiding everyone. And now that they finally saw each other he seemed fine and excited about the new apartment. Jackson was not fooled, so he might have lingered hugging Isaac longer than necessary. Isaac’s inner wolf was very thankful for the pack comfort.

“You doing okay, then?” Liam asked too casually when Jackson eventually let go of Isaac.

Isaac smirked and ruffled Liam’s hair, simply to see Liam’s eyes flare with wrath before planting an unexpected kiss on the shorter beta’s head.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

Despite the short exchange, that was all that Isaac and Liam needed to say to each other. They understood what was going on, and did not need much more. Neither of them wanted to talk about their big elephant in the room anyways.

“How’s Stiles?” Liam whispered, looking behind Isaac’s shoulder, only to see that their dream companion was staring at them, clearly wondering about what they were talking about.

“He’s fine,” was all Isaac could say before Malia called them over.

Last to come was Derek, who patted Isaac’s cheek like the annoying older brother he had become. He brought a handful of folding chairs as an offering, together with something in a bottle that smelled of peaches and looked home-made in a tub in a basement.

“I got it on my holidays.”

“What _is_ it?” Isaac questioned.

“Oh, you’ll find out,” was the mysterious reply.

Dinner was loud and rowdy (it seemed that the obscure European liquor Derek had brought had enough wolfsbane to give everyone a kick, despite Stiles’s teasing remarks about responsible adulting and underage drinking). Everyone was loud and talking across the table, laughing at jokes and remembering pack anecdotes. Stiles and Isaac had a game going on, trying to see who could say the thing that would made Scott blush the deepest red, but the alpha served them a spoonful of their own medicine by threatening each of them with specific stories through a couple of chosen key words that silenced them for a while, to everyone’s great amusement.

After dinner, when everyone was full and slightly tipsy, the pack gave their hosts their house warming gifts: a couple of board games, an atomic-looking toaster-grill, a blender, framed photos of all of them, and an almost complete new camping kit from Liam. Scott and Isaac had never expected any of that. They spent the rest of the evening playing party games until late. Even Derek joined in, despite his initial brooding. At one point Malia announced that she had an early morning, and despite the mock booing, Lydia agreed that it was getting late.

“Yeah,” Malia insisted. “Let these two break their new bed.”

The pack slowly left the apartment. Mason and Derek surprised their hosts by staying behind and doing the dishes with them, only leaving when the living room was neat and tidy again.

“You two can go back to what we interrupted earlier,” Derek said with a smirk before leaving.

When the front door clicked shut, Scott beamed at Isaac with his biggest satisfied smile and literally jumped on him, so that the beta was holding his boyfriend up.

“They’re not _that_ annoying,” Scott said before kissing Isaac.

“Hmmm… I guess they’re okay,” the beta said with nonchalance.

“They’re _more_ than okay,” Scott nudged Isaac’s sides, causing him to giggle.

“Don’t tickle the man keeping you from falling to the floor,” Isaac warned with a smile.

“Make sure I fall on a bed, then.”

***

After the housewarming party Isaac and Scott enjoyed a calmer week, during which the full moon came and went. Those days, Isaac focused his energies into their new apartment, his job assignments and the Dupont sale. He avoided Stiles and Liam during the daytime, and successfully evaded his weird dreams. Scott smiled more that week, seeing that Isaac was making an effort to get over whatever was going through his head. The alpha still felt bad because his boyfriend had not told him what all that had been about, but at least had to acknowledge the effort Isaac was making.

Seeing the improvement, Scott felt more comfortable going back to the clinic for long turns, and Isaac guessed that he told Jackson and Ethan (who had been slightly too pushy and concerned for Isaac’s liking) to back off slightly. Isaac knew that Jackson was neither happy nor convinced, but the other beta seemed to accept that Isaac was okay.

That Saturday, Scott took Isaac to his old house with a brace of moving boxes, ready for a day of cleaning, sorting, and emptying. If Isaac was to start a new chapter, the old Lahey home had to be dealt with. What Isaac had not expected was to see the entire pack there waiting for them.

“What’s this?” Isaac whispered from the car, before getting out.

“They’re coming to help?” Scott whispered back, confused and slightly insulted. He only wanted to help, and there was no way the two of them were going to be able to clear the house in one day.

“You didn’t have to bother them…” Isaac looked shiftily at Liam and Stiles, who were very clearly looking at him.

“They’re our pack. They’re our _friends_ ,” Scott smiled and shook his head, clearly thinking his boyfriend was being adorably stupid. “And I don’t want to spend more than necessary in that house...”

He kissed Isaac and got out of the car.

Inside the house, despite Scott’s alphaness, Lydia took over. Even if they were there to sort through old, dirty and dusty stuff and get rid of old furniture, she was immaculately dressed in a summer dress.

“Stiles and Mason,” Lydia announced. Out of apparently nowhere she pulled a clipboard with a detailed list of instructions. “You two go up to Mr Lahey’s room and sort all that’s in there in the charity boxes. Jackson and Ethan; you go up to the attic and bring everything down. Malia? You and Liam can take all these furniture in the living room to the front yard.”

“Lydia, aren’t we keeping anything? I want to rent the house…”

“Even if anyone wanted to rent this house furnished, _those_ things,” she pointed with a disgusted face at the dented table and the mouldy sofas, “are a no-no, darling. Out with them.”

“Yes, boss,” Malia saluted. Isaac could only gape his mouth.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she told Isaac, who looked at everyone with apprehension. “We know there are many memories here, not all of which you want to keep.”

“But—“

“You go to your bedroom with Scott and you can decide what you want to keep and what goes.”

“Goes _where_?” Isaac asked, not fully understanding.

“To the sorting pile. To see if it’s worth giving it to charity or if it goes straight into the skip.”

“There’s a skip?”

“Chop chop, Lahey,” Lydia said with malicious smile. “We haven’t got all day.”

Isaac had not been in his old room in years. When he was a fugitive, Derek had walked in to gather a few of his belongings, taking them back to the train depot. But ever since he had never had a chance or a reason to go back. And now he was there. He could not help feeling emotional. Thankfully, Scott was there to hold his hand and keep him steady – otherwise he might have become a crying wreck.

Isaac had not owned much, but it was all there: his old comics were still there, which made him smile, together with toys, a couple computer games and his old and baggy clothes. Isaac found an old kangaroo plushie and hugged it as he sat on his bed with Scott by his side, not really talking – just dwelling on the memories (good and bad). After twenty silent minutes Isaac was ready. All the things he wanted to keep from his room fitted in a box.

Out in the corridor he could hear Stiles and Mason arguing about the merits of throwing Mr Lahey’s clothes out the window and boxing them there rather than carrying heavy boxes full of clothes down the stairs. He saw Jackson and Ethan walking down from the attic with a box full of old lamps, hangers and swimming trophies. Downstairs Liam and Malia announced that all the furniture was out in the lawn, and Lydia promptly told them to go through the kitchen.

Isaac found himself unconsciously walking into his older brother’s room, which was even emptier than his own. When Cam had enlisted, their father walked into the room and threw most of his things out, dragging Isaac along to help him, mumbling things about ungrateful sons. After that day, the only time he had walked into that room was when he found out that he had died, and he hid under the bed like he had done when he was little.

His hands went slowly to the bedside table. He opened the drawer where he found the small box that contained Cam’s dog tags. He stood there, staring at the box, not daring to open it for a long while, until Scott eventually asked him if he was okay.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, babe. It’s just… I think I am closing a cycle now,” Isaac admitted, truly meaning it. Whatever the dream had been, he owed it to his brother to come back for his dog tags, to take them home with him, rather than leaving them abandoned in that musty old bedroom.

Later that day, Lydia announced that for lunch she had ordered pizza for everyone with Jackson’s card, although Jackson did not find that funny. Isaac was silently thankful for the joke, because it helped him ease the tension and emotion he had built up inside. They ate the pizza sat in the front yard with the garden furniture they had dragged from the back (nobody wanted to be near the pool) and surrounded by piles of boxes and heaps of furniture.

In the afternoon, the house became again a frenzy of activity as stuff was loaded on vans, or driven to charity shops. There was a loud argument about what colour the walls in the different rooms should be, and Stiles and Jackson found themselves painting small squares with paint testers while their respective couples squabbled about which one to go for. When nobody was looking, Isaac sneaked through the kitchen and into the basement.

Isaac had been prepping himself for that moment all day as part of his self-imposed task of closing that chapter of his life; a closure he had postponed for too long. Each step down the stairs was full of dents and marks that had left mirror marks and dents on him. Further down there were more boxes and suitcases, and even more swimming and water-polo stuff. And then, against the wall, the freezer. He stood in front of it, looking at the lid which was jacked open, the broken remains of chains covered in dust down on the floor. But something was not right. There was something unsettlingly different about it.

He sensed Scott coming down the steps, looking for him. Isaac could feel his worry through their shared pack bond, and he was sure that his inner wolf was whimpering and begging for Scott to come and find him. It was at that very moment that he realised _what_ was off.

“Scott…” Isaac asked, staring into the freezer.

“Yeah?”

“Why…” Isaac struggled to ask, his hands gingerly brushing the edge of the freezer. “Why can I smell you in my freezer?”

Scott stopped dead on his tracks.

“Why… I mean… when… You _were_ in my freezer?” Isaac’s voice trembled briefly as he clenched his fists. “I can sense it, Scott… and you never told me.”

Scott walked slowly towards his boyfriend, and carefully placed his hands on Isaac’s slouching shoulders. He swallowed before answering.

“It was during your first full moon, when the kanima first attacked.”

“But- but… why in _here_?” Isaac insisted. He was confused, because he could not understand why anyone would voluntarily climb into that freezer. He could not get his head around the idea…

“Derek brought me here during the full moon,” Scott admitted. “He wanted to show me what had happened to you. He wanted me to understand you better.”

Scott brought himself closer to Isaac, putting his hands around his boyfriend’s waist and resting his face on his shoulders.

“I… I was shifting,” Scott continued. “And Allison was there. I was scared for her. It was the best place I could stay… And I was so _angry_ realising that you… that your dad…”

Isaac did not let him explain any more. He just crumbled on him, demanding a needy hug, leaving damp stains on Scott’s shirt and sobbing silently as his hands balled into fists grabbed Scott’s shirt, because the one person who never _ever_ should have had to spend a night in that _fucking_ freezer was Scott.

***

Isaac knew from the very beginning that he was again in the dream loop. He cursed and tried to force himself awake, but he was inside a dark room with only a small window and an obvious door. With a big sigh, he opened the door and braced himself.

Through the door, Isaac walked into his old high school in France. He was not there as a student, though, as he was in his bakery uniform and carrying a tray of loaves. He walked with it waiting for someone to take them away from him, until he turned left and entered a corridor he knew too well.

“Mr Lahey,” the voice of Mr Harris called behind him. He was now in Beacon Hills High. “I believe those are for me. Please leave them in my classroom?”

Isaac growled silently, but did as he was told. But before he could enter the chemistry lab, another familiar voice shouted his name.

“Lahey!”

“Yeah, Coach?” Isaac replied, rolling his eyes. “Are these breads yours?”

“What? Forget about _them_ ” Coach took the tray and lobbed it away. “I cannot eat bread since the summer of 98, which you don’t need to know about.”

“What?”

“Listen, I was just thinking… why don’t you just come to my office so we can have a quiet chat?”

“Coach, I don’t play lacrosse anymore,” the werewolf argued.

“You traitor! You haven’t gone to _basketball_?” Coach spat with disgust. “Anyways, that’s not it.”

“I think I need to go,” Isaac said, something inside him telling him that he had somewhere else to be.

“Go? No! Ha, ha, funny… No chance, Lahey. You need to stay.”

“Er… coach… I don’t study here anymore, you know right?” Isaac backed away slowly.

“Lahey, I’m telling you not as your coach,” Bobby Finstock was suddenly very serious. Isaac had never seen him like that.

“I’m going to go…”

“Isaac, listen to me. You can’t—“

But Isaac had already backed away from Coach and fallen back through an open door. When he landed on his arse, he was no longer in Beacon Hills High, but he was still in a school. It looked American. It had a glass roof.

“Hey, are you Isaac?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. _Why am I so popular tonight?_

When he looked up, he saw a boy his age. A tall boy. When he finally stood up, he saw that the boy was _taller_ than he was. He had short, light brown hair, and bright blue eyes. For a split second a dopey giddy smile grew on his face.

“Isaac?”

“I… erm. Yeah. _Who_ are you?”

“I’ve only been told to ask you to wait,” the other boy flashed a smile and his eyes glowed bright yellow.

“Hey, you’re a _werewolf_?”

“Just stay here. Liam won’t be long.”

With that, the mysterious werewolf stepped back and vanished in the shadows. Isaac stepped forward to investigate, but yet another voice called him out.

“Isaac!”

This time Isaac recognised the voice immediately. “Jesus, you are going to wear my name out tonight! What’s wrong with you now, Liam?”

Liam stopped by Isaac, looking positively scared.

“Thank God, I didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

“Where are we? And _who_ was that guy?”

“This is my old school and that was Brett. Come on, follow me,” the other beta insisted, pulling Isaac with him.

“What’s going on?”

“Something _bad_ ,” Liam said as they kept running.

“How bad?”

“Erm...” Liam did not reply. He just dragged Isaac to the top of a stairwell. Behind them, the high school had vanished in darkness.

“Liam, please stop,” Isaac demanded. “Can you tell me what is happening?”

“Just hurry down the stairs, will you?” Liam begged.

“ _Liam!_ ”

“The shared loop is erm… crumbling? Vanishing? Dunno. Just come down!”

Content with that, Isaac followed Liam down the spiral metal stairs that went down into the bowels of the high school. It felt wet, and through the wall Isaac somehow could hear the roaring waves of an angry ocean.

“Where’s Stiles?”

“He’s down the stairs. He… erm… He’s hurt?” Liam explained as he kept running down the spiral. “We were trying to find you, we were in his flat in Boston, when the walls were sucked into a void and we had to run. We jumped into my old school, but I don’t know… a black ichor goo lashed at him from the shadows and he’s like badly burnt. And I needed to get to you, but did not know how, and somehow I thought I could ask Brett to find you…”

Liam trailed off when they reached the bottom of the stairs. They were again in the large hall of columns that surrounded the Black Gates, where Isaac saw Stiles leaning against a polished marble pillar, his face contorted in pain.

“Hey, man,” Stiles managed to pull a smile. “I’ve missed ya.”

“Stiles, what happened?”

 _Isaac. ISAAC_.

“I think our time in the shared loops is slowly coming to an end,” Stiles guessed as he tried to stand up to put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

“We need the keys,” Liam looked at Isaac.

_Isaac! Isaac!_

Isaac felt his head spin and the ground under his feet shake.

“Isaac, focus,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “We may be losing our chance to enter the Dreamlands.”

_Isaac!_

“Isaac?”

“Buddy?”

“We need the keys…”

Isaac’s hands trembled and he stepped back to look up at the Black Gates, trying to ignore the familiar voiced calling him out. The werewolf closed his eyes and swallowed. _Not this. This can’t be. I decide what’s true. I decide what’s a dream. I decide when I wake up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we will finally (!!) reconnect with Chapter 1! This means that from now on the pace and the action are going to pick up quickly.
> 
> And I wish I could have more Brett in this fic, but sadly he's dead :/


	16. Breaking barriers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac looked at the woman in the bed and then at Lydia who nodded him away. Stiles pointed at Isaac with his finger, and silently told him with all the gestures he could that the two of them were going to have a serious conversation when he got back ( _Oh boy, we so are gonna. You are not getting off this one, Lahey_ )
> 
> OR: Isaac encounters Demetria in the preserve and all hell breaks loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always many many thanks to my amazing beta, i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name, because otherwise this would be a pain to read.
> 
> Also, this chapter *FINALLY* links back to ch. 1, and retakes the story from where Isaac has his encounter with the Hound.

During the next few days Isaac’s mood crashed, and he clammed up completely. No matter how much Scott tried to cheer him up, or distract him with things to do in their new place. Isaac was pushing everybody away. He was adamant that he did not want to see Stiles or Liam, and he even made up lame excuses not to see Jackson or Ethan. Scott was terrified of going to the clinic with Deaton, his inner alpha howling in pain and anguish left Isaac ( _his_ Isaac) home alone brooding. Isaac insisted that he needed some time to think and get over the anniversary of the cultic incidents, and Melissa told Scott that he had to give it to him.

Isaac told Scott every day that he should not worry about him, that he was okay, and that he loved him. But he did not tell him about the dreams. He was putting all his will power into ignoring them. If the shared dream loop was coming to an end, then it meant that they would soon be over. He just had to endure, and avoid Liam and Stiles, who kept trying to drag him to the Black Gates. It did not help that his inner wolf told him to go to the gates. Nothing good ever came from crossing two ginormous black gates…

All of this was going through Isaac’s head when, after various weeks of having these annoying and disturbing dreams, he left the flat for a run, hoping that would clear his mind. He left Scott in bed, his phone on his bedside table and went off to the preserve. He was near the old Hale House (the former Ranger’s Office) when he bumped into the crazy woman wearing bedsheets.

“Hold, wait!” Isaac shouted. “Wait, stop!”

Isaac tried to stop her, but she would not listen to him. She even shouted _back_ at him in some bizarre language which Isaac did not understand. So the werewolf froze where he stood, trying to analyse the situation, but the woman crashed into him, covering his face with a towel. It was only then that he _felt_ what she was running from: this cold, aethereal creature was attacking her, and it crushed his wrist bones when it stepped over him. Isaac lashed out with his claws and howled in pain as his flesh burnt frozen when it gored the creature.

It all happened in only a few seconds.

***

The creature growled in pain and left. The woman cried in pain beside him. Isaac added his voice to the hurt moaning, and fought back a sob as he brought his injured hands to his face and chest, pulling the cloth off his face. As his bones realigned and fused back and his burnt skin regenerated, Isaac rolled until he was on his knees.

“Are you okay, miss?” he asked as he gasped. Her agonising screams in a language he did not understand were the only answer he needed. “Fine, off to the hospital with you then.”

Isaac searched for his phone, only to realise he had left it home. _Shit_. He did not have any cash either, so that was going to be one long walk to the hospital. He considered for a second whether he should howl and call for help, but even that early in the morning there would be people around he did not want to scare; the Sheriff had told them in no-nonsense terms. Plus, the poor woman by his side did not need to see him wolfing out – she had seen enough already.

The woman was not bleeding, but she had an odd-looking bite on her arm, completely circular, and punctured with dozens of sharp and narrow, needle-like tooth marks. If the fact that it was aethereal and as cold as the grave was not enough evidence, Isaac was now sure that this was some sort of evil supernatural creature. He got closer and placed his hand on the woman’s skin, draining some of her pain out. As dark waves of pain circulated through his veins, he could feel the woman relaxing until she was out unconscious.

So, Isaac cursed his luck. He searched through his pack bond, trying to tell Scott that _he_ was okay, but that there was something potentially dangerous going on as well, which was complex enough to transmit through an emotional tether. When he felt Scott’s inner wolf nudging at him, Isaac’s nuzzled him before pulling the woman up, and carrying her to the edge of the preserve.

Probably not by chance, it was Malia who jumped out of the Beacon County Sheriff Office’s cruiser.

“What have you done?” the were-coyote asked as she helped Isaac put the poor injured woman in the back of the car. This was better handled directly – there was no need to call an ambulance.

“I didn’t do anything, thanks,” Isaac grunted. “We were attacked by a… erm… something.”

Malia stopped as he opened the door. “What do you mean _something_?”

“Get in the car,” the beta sighed.

Isaac explained with every relevant detail what had happened that morning, especially in those two or three seconds he had been blinded by that woman’s towel, which, upon closer inspection, was not a towel, but some sort of cloak. Malia listened carefully without interrupting, and when she concluded that this was some ‘supernatural shit like last summer’, Isaac’s stomach churned in distress. _Not again, not here._

Malia sensed the change in her friend’s mood, and she put her hand on his knee.

“Don’t worry, Isaac. We’re on this together. As we’ve always been.”

“Except that time with Theo,” Isaac blurted, because unnecessary black humour and bold unwanted truths always made a perfect coping mechanism.

“We don’t talk about _him_ in this car, you hear me, you big softie?” she warned while she kept her eyes fixed on the road. “It’s just _us.”_

Isaac pulled a bitter smile, happy that in her own strange way Malia had reassured him more than she could have imagined.

Malia pulled the radio and made a call to let the Sheriff and Melissa know of what had happened, knowing well that even if he should not, Stiles would be listening. By the time they got to the ER, Melissa and Scott were waiting together with Parrish. Once the woman was safely on a stretcher and hurried inside, Scott made sure that Isaac was okay, patting him all over, nuzzling his nose all over his neck and shoulders, interrupting his check with needy and fearful kisses.

“I’m fine, Scott,” Isaac smiled. “I’m worried about her.”

“What happened?”

“Is this going to be like the cult stuff from last summer?” Isaac cocked his head and pouted. “Am I going to have to explain and repeat myself to every single person in the pack?”

“Yes,” Malia answered when Scott looked baffled. “Now let’s get inside and ring the rest.”

“Is this going to be necessary?” Isaac pleaded, grasping at straws, hoping that this was not the beginning of a supernatural crisis.

“Isaac, just remember that it’s better when we all know,” Parrish said without malicious intentions, but the casual comment pushed a dagger of guilt through Isaac’s chest. Scott noticed his boyfriend slightly flinching, but he just looked at him with a forgiving smile and his loving warm eyes.

The four of them walked in together to one of the quiet rooms that Melissa always managed to secure for their hospital meetings. Behind closed doors, Isaac repeated what he had told Malia, underlining that it all happened in a couple of seconds and that he did not see the creature, only that he felt it. Scott remained quiet and pensive, drinking it all in, trying to think about what their next step was going to be.

“First thing, find and contain the monster. Let’s see if we can track anything in the preserve,” Scott decided. “And let’s ask Mason and Lydia to do some research into this creature.”

“But I don’t know what it is,” Isaac excused himself.

“We have a description of sorts…” Scott tried to be helpful.

“We need a photo of the bite mark,” Malia added. “That’ll help, right?”

The two werewolves shrugged but Parrish seemed to agree, so they went to look for Melissa. It did not take them long to find her out in the corridor. They had to wait until the doctors left the room, but eventually they were able to enter and have a closer look.

“Is she ok, mom?” Scott asked, his eyes fixed on the woman.

“She’s fine for the moment, she has just lost a lot of blood,” Melissa explained.

“But the wound… it was dry?” Isaac asked, his brows furrowed.

“Yes, we noticed…” Melissa replied. “Do you know what bit her?”

“We’re trying to find out.”

An uncomfortable silence followed, during which, Isaac felt the foundations of his current life shake and rock. He wondered for a fraction of a second if this was a consequence of him rejecting to go into the Dreamlands, as Liam and Stiles were so insistent. _Great. Never thought that dreams come true meant this bullcrap following me…_

“Can we take a picture of the bite?” Scott broke the pause. “That’d help.”

Melissa carefully peeled off the dressing to reveal the perfectly circular mark.

“The bite was so perfectly circular that it looks as if she had been attacked with a broken bottle… which is what we are writing down on the report, you all understand?”

“I’ll need to take a statement, Isaac,” Malia said. Parrish assented.

“She did not have any form of identification on her?” Parrish asked, his law enforcement training slowly kicking in.

“Nothing,” Melissa admitted. “No wallet, no bag, no phone. She does not even have pockets!”

Scott advanced to put his hand on the woman, draining some of her pain. Colour soon returned to her cheeks, and her face softened and relaxed. She even shifted her shoulders and mumbled something.

“Scott… look,” Isaac pointed at the woman, who was now moving her lips.

“Is she talking?”

“ _Shhhhh_!”

Isaac and Scott got closer to hear the woman, in case anything she said was useful for them. The woman’s words were a mere low breath, but they were audible enough for their supernatural ears.

“Is that… French?” Malia asked.

“No…” Isaac explained.

“It’s not Spanish either,” Scott added. “And definitely _not_ English.”

“I think we need to call for help.”

***

Lydia walked into the hospital with her sunglasses on her head, and a large cup of coffee in her hand. Stiles walked briskly behind her, his eyes glued to his phone, reading through a pdf, occasionally mumbling something more to himself than to his girlfriend. They headed towards the room where the rest were waiting.

“There are a number of creatures that can leave a perfectly circular bite mark,” Stiles mumbled. “Although I am not sure about the aethereal cold. I think Isaac might have been in shock or something. It does not fit with what the bestiary—“

“Stop it, Stiles.”

“But Lydia, this has to mean something.”

“Just wait, please…”

“Stiles! Lydia!”

They heard Scott calling them. He was waiting outside the room with Malia and Isaac, while Parrish was already leaving, so they only had time to say a quick goodbye. While Scott and Malia summarised Isaac’s story Stiles gave the tall werewolf a quizzical look, clearly wanting to ask him more, but there were too many people around and despite all his curiosity, Stiles still was not ready to expose their oneiric connection to the rest of the pack.

“So, Isaac. What have you done?” Lydia asked with a malicious smile, but Isaac knew she was only teasing.

“Just my usual. Bumping into crazy ladies draped in sheets who speak in tongues.”

“Yeah, Scott said… _what_ tongues?” she asked, lowering her voice, even if the corridor was empty.

“Nothing we understand,” Scott admitted.

“Between the three of us we only know three languages, so that’s not much to say,” Isaac chuckled as he leant against the wall.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Let’s see this girlfriend of yours.”

Inside the room, the woman laid still in bed, as if she were sleeping. Lydia approached her side carefully, looking at Scott and Stiles, seeking reassurance. Both her friends nodded encouragingly before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and gingerly placed a hand on the other woman’s skin.

The room around her disappeared. The low conversation of Malia and Isaac blurred away, as did the beeping noises of the hospital room. Lydia felt her conscious self fall back into a whirlpool of grey shades and dark purple mists, revolving in slow motion around her. A prickly sensation crawled through her skin slowly, like an electrified flow of molasses that climbed from the woman’s arm into Lydia’s hands and up towards her shoulder and chest. The closer the sensation got to her heart, the clearer the noises became: the slow but inevitable thumps of a charging quadruped, of padded and clawed paws, a creature that dragged around it the dead cold of outer space.

Lydia’s banshee senses had never encountered such a supernatural force around her, but she clearly felt that the woman in the bed was marked by some unknown entity, and that it was chasing her and getting closer by the minute.

Before Lydia could snap back into the outside world out of her own volition, a completely different (but terrifyingly familiar) sensation dragged her to a different space. She looked around and could only see a red smoke, hot and dry, that made Lydia’s eyes water. She saw high and dark shapes towering up into a sky that was covered by a web of interlaced spiked forms. Voices around her began to call her, telling her to scream, to announce the loss of another undeserving soul. A knot formed in her throat, and she pulled her hand back from the unconscious woman with a violent jerk. She stepped back and found herself being caught in Isaac’s arms.

“Lydia?” Stiles was immediately by her side as the blond werewolf sat her carefully on the armchair. “What did you feel?”

Lydia was confused. She knew Stiles and Scott were asking things. She knew that Stiles was holding her hand, and she was aware of Isaac and Malia inspecting the woman in the bed, but none of that mattered. Or made much sense. All of Lydia’s thoughts were split between the certainty that someone was about to die and the dread of the cold danger that had targeted the woman lying in front of her.

“Lyds!”

“Something is coming,” she said as she stared with apprehension at the supine woman. “For her… whatever Isaac clawed is still coming for her. And I doubt it will stop there…”

“Please, can’t we have a normal summer? Just for once!” Malia moaned.

“You had three quiet summers,” Stiles snapped. “What else do you want? And _what_ is coming?” he asked Isaac, who just shrugged his shoulders.

“If this woman is the target and Lydia has sensed a death, then the creature will be coming here, right?” Scott was now in full alert, with that determined look and irradiating purpose in that special way that always made Isaac weak in the knees.

“Scott,” Lydia turned around to the alpha. “We need to find out what this thing is and where it is coming from.”

“Has it got anything to do with…” Scott found he could not talk about the cultists in the hospital, not when the last year the entire hospital had been all but painted red in blood. He also feared that if he mentioned it, it would trigger whatever had been causing Isaac to sulk and be eggy for the last days. “You know…? _Them_?”

Everyone in the room fell silent, the ghost of the previous summer suddenly _very_ present.

“We need to do some research,” Lydia concluded, very ready to walk out.

“Wait! What is she saying?” Malia asked.

“She hasn’t spoken a word,” Lydia retorted.

“You’ve only been here a minute. Just wait.”

“We can’t just wait,” Scott insisted. “If that thing is coming back we need to get ready. We have to tell my mom. The creature might come here to the hospital!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Stiles tried to calm everyone down. Everyone but Isaac, who had been eerily quiet since Lydia said what she had felt. He made a mental note to have a quiet chat with Isaac before either of them left. “Everybody calm down. Scotty, the pack: delegate, remember?”

Scott nodded and walked out of the room, phone already ringing in his hand, but already asking Stiles and Lydia with a pleading look to stay for a bit longer. Lydia sat down again on the chair, trying to process what was going on while Stiles searched again through the pdfs he had access to from his phone. That left Isaac and Malia to look uncomfortably at each other as they stood by the woman in the bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the werecoyote asked, sensing that something else was going on that nobody wanted to talk about. “You’re off. You were edgy when we sorted out your dad’s old house and now you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

Isaac knew that Malia would not let go of the topic now that she had brought it up, so he sighed and decided to give her enough talk so she would drop it for a while.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I think it’s just the… the consequences or whatever hangover from the cult shit last year…” which was true enough. It was what he had basically admitted to Scott. The thought drove another guilty dagger into Isaac’s chest – he always hoped he would be a better boyfriend than that. _What will Scott think when he finds out I’ve been lying to him?_

Malia stood there, trying to process what her friend had just told her, when her radio buzzed before she could answer. She was used to it, but even a year after, Stiles, Lydia and Isaac felt a shiver run down their spines when they heard the static rustle.

“Deputy Tate?”

“Yes, Parrish?”

“Malia, we’ve had an… _animal attack_ ,” the inflection of his tone clearly implying that it was _not_ an animal attack. “It has a weird bite mark. Can you take Isaac’s statement and come over to the old gravel quarry?”

The gravel quarry, just as the radio static, had ominous connotations for Scott’s pack – it was at the gravel that they encountered the mi-go and where Isaac fell down a cave. It was also where they had the last stand-off against Dianne, the leader of the cult.

Malia took her phone out and rang Parrish, so they could speak without being overheard by any other deputies.

“Spill, Jordan… aha… huh… that’s disgusting… yeah, sure. I will, but I need to tell Scott... Okay, okay. Bye.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at Malia, who put her phone away, straightened her duty jacket and cleared her throat before speaking slowly and carefully.

“Please hear me out first. Isaac, I need _you_ to come with me because I need to take your statement like, right _now_. Also, for _your_ general information, they found a wrinkled and dried up body in the quarry, completely drained of… erm… blood and fluids, apparently.” Malia put her hand up before Stiles could interrupt. “I need to go with Parrish, so I need this statement quick, and I need you two to tell Scott, you hear me?”

Stiles, Lydia and Isaac nodded silently, as the three of them felt the dreadful weight of realisation sitting on them, crushing them down. Shit just got real again.

“Mr Lahey?” Malia said as she opened the door, now all official Sheriff business. “Please come out with me for a second so we can do our _official_ paperwork?”

Isaac’s brow furrowed and he bit his lip. He looked at the woman in the bed and then at Lydia who nodded him away. While Lydia walked to the bed to hold the woman’s hand, lost in her own thoughts, Stiles pointed at Isaac with his finger, and silently told him with all the gestures he could that the two of them were going to have a serious conversation when he got back ( _Oh boy_ , _we so are gonna_. _You are not getting off this one, Lahey_ ).

***

Scott walked back into the room, only to see that Malia and Isaac had gone. Stiles and Lydia quickly brought him up to speed with the most recent developments, while Scott told how he had asked Mason to start doing some research while the other werewolves were going to look around the preserve, looking for any trace of the creature.

“I guess I have to tell Liam or Ethan to find Parrish in the quarry first…” Scott visibly flinched when he mentioned the quarry.

“Well, now that you’ve been told, I need to go out for a second,” Stiles said, kissing Lydia and patting Scott’s shoulder.

“Where are you going, darling?” Lydia asked in the tone that Stiles knew _she_ already knew where he was going regardless, but was asking aloud for the benefit of Scott.

“Oh… uh… I want to ask…” he began to think about a plausible excuse, but the longer he dragged his pause the less believable it was, so he gave up and gave a fractional truth. “I just fancy having a chat with Isaac. It’ll be just a minute.”

“Stiles…”

“I’ll be back!” and with that, he was out the door.

Scott looked at the door for a few seconds only mildly in shock until Lydia interrupted his thoughts.

“Are we going to talk about our boyfriends now?”

“What?”

“ _Please_ , Scott, they are both acting weird,” she said, patting the arm-rests of the chair so Scott would sit down. “Our two dear dorks are hiding something.”

The way Scott collapsed into the chair was a perfect reflection of how he was emotionally crumbling down.

“I don’t know what to do. Isaac’s barely sleeping, and he’s cranky and eggy, even when he pretends he’s all okay I _know_ he isn’t!” Scott explained, looking down at his hands. “And I ask him to tell me and I beg him to trust me, but he just… just clams up! He pushes me away, but he tells me not to worry.”

Lydia listened carefully to Scott. The moment the banshee had prompted him had felt like he had been given permission to blurt out all of his worries. And he did. Normally it would be his mother, but Scott was losing his patience, which was all the advice Melissa had given him. Something very wrong was going on with Isaac, and it was killing him not being able to help.

When the alpha looked up at Lydia, his eyes were reddish with sadness and frustration. She put her hand calmly on his shoulder and explained how Stiles had also been having similar troubles at night, how he thought that something was going on, and how he was not ready to tell what it was either. They immediately wondered if the unconscious woman in the room with them and the evil creature lurking around Beacon Hills were related to Stiles and Isaac’s sleeping troubles, although neither voiced this out.

The silence that followed was broken by Scott’s phone, that buzzed with a text message from Liam saying they were about to get to the preserve. Scott was reading it aloud when the woman in the bed gasped and coughed. Lydia and Scott froze where they were. The woman was too weak to wriggle or to sit up, but it was clear now that she was conscious, but she was babbling in a language they could not immediately understand.

“Call your mom, Scott,” Lydia said as she tried to understand what the woman was saying. Out of pure instinct, Lydia approached the bed and held the woman’s hand, although this time she did not get an overload of supernatural warning sensations.

The woman slowly opened her eyes, and her face clearly indicated that she had no idea of where she was, but that she needed to be somewhere else. She coughed again and began to speak, looking at Lydia with pleading eyes. Whatever she was saying was urgent and important.

Melissa walked in, followed by Scott, who stood next to Lydia draining some of the woman’s pain. Lydia closed her eyes to listen better, trying to turn down the noises of Melissa doing her job and the reassuring mumbles of Scott. There was something in the _sounds_ that was familiar. The consonants and the cadence of the words reminded her of something. Something told her she knew what it was, even if she could not speak it. There were a few words that were repeated, _antron_ , _kunos_ , _hupno_ , _oneirion_ , but none of that made any sense. Even if tired and in pain, the woman was clearly getting frustrated to the point of anger. It was then that she muttered through her teeth one word Lydia understood.

“ _Barbaroi_!”

“Lydia, what was that?” Scott asked, seeing the change in his friend’s face.

“ _Sedete, domina_!” Lydia ignored the werewolf.

“You can speak that?”

“Shush! _Scisne tu latinum_?”

“Is that Latin?”

The woman in bed suddenly stood still and looked at Lydia with a pensive expression.

“ _Ubi sum_? _Quando sum_?”

Lydia thought carefully before answering. “ _Valetudinario urbis nostrae_.”

Melissa and Scott admired silently the exchange. Lydia was really struggling to put her words together, but the injured woman would not give her a chance to think, bombarding her with questions. At one point Lydia seemed to tell her to stop and explain everything carefully and slowly, for everyone’s benefit. The woman huffed in frustration, but went on with the plan.

“ _Egomet Demetria nominatur, una sum ex septem dormientibus in caverna in rupibus_ …”

“I am called Demetria,” bit by bit, Lydia translated Demetria’s story. “I am one of seven who are sleeping in a cave in the rocks… we come from Ephesus in the time of emperor Decius… we are looking for…” and then Lydia paled and fell silent.

Demetria saw the redhead’s reaction and took it as an encouraging sign, so she insisted and repeated what she had last said.

“ _Nemus quaesumus, a druidibus custoditum. Adest vestra in silva nemus, nonne? Lucus sacer cum querco lato?_ ” Demetria smiled, hope glimmering in her eyes.

“Lydia? What is she saying about druids?” Scott may not speak Latin, but he could tell what _druidibus_ meant.

The banshee swallowed and took a deep breath. She nodded first at Demetria, who sighed visibly in relief.

“They are looking for a sacred grove protected by druids with a great oak,” Lydia translated. She then turned to look at Scott and Melissa. “They are looking for the nemeton.”

***

Isaac was walking back to the room when Stiles stopped him in his tracks.

“Hold it there, scarfwolf,” Stiles halted Isaac with a hand to his chest. The werewolf just looked down unamused and cocked his head.

“Can we not?”

“Absolutely _not_ , Lahey. You, me, a quiet little room and a cosy chat; because _you_ have a great deal to explain. And apologise.”

“Apologise?”

Stiles punched Isaac’s shoulder, although both knew who was going to be in more pain after that.

“You have been a little shit to me and Liam, you know, right? Bad, _bad_ , wolf.”

Isaac actually chuckled at that but had the decency to look ashamed. Stiles simply rolled his eyes and pushed the blond werewolf into the nearest empty room.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Isaac asked after closing the door behind him, sounding really tired.

“I told you, just a chat. Oh, and apology accepted.”

“I haven’t—“

“Yeah, yeah… You did that thing you do when you cock your head and scratch your elbow and pull a face like a puppy that has just been smacked on the nose with a newspaper. Yeah, I know now how to read you, Lahey—“

“Lydia taught you,” Isaac stated the fact. He could imagine Lydia doing so just so Stiles would be quiet for half an hour.

“Beside the point. So… are we gonna talk?”

Isaac had been dreading this moment. He had hoped that _maybe_ he could avoid Stiles for the rest of his life so nobody would bring up the things in their dreams, but now that an unknown yet certainly evil monster has been lurking around the preserve (around the _quarry_ of all places) he did not have a chance.

“You’re the one with the questions,” Isaac gave up all pretence.

“Well… There’s you refusing to help us get into the Dreamlands, and risking us losing our chance of a lifetime—“

“Surely you’ve learnt after all these years dealing with the supernatural that poking your nose around the wrong trees just gets you hurt, Stiles,” Isaac snapped.

“Don’t you get sassy on me, Isaac. You know this is not just plain curiosity.”

“It’s a fucking _evil_ Black Gate? Oh, yeah, right; and how could I forget Nyarlathotep is evidently _not_ behind all of this.”

Stiles growled in a way that would have made Derek or Jackson proud.

“Your _brother_ is calling you from—“

“Don’t you _dare_ get my brother in this,” Isaac’s eyes flashed yellow, but Stiles was not intimidated – he simply dropped the subject.

“If you’d been _there_ with me and Liam, which, by the way, you’ve really let him down because Scott may be his big authority brother-figure, but you’re like the fun werewolf cousin he can be naughty with,” Stiles retorted, making Isaac shift uncomfortably. “But yeah, we have been doing our own reading and research and we are risking losing our only chance to become dreamers.”

“ _Nyarlathotep_ is the one who wants us to be dreamwalkers!”

“Isaac! If we have the chance of becoming dreamwalkers that is because of the gods of Earth, _not_ the outer gods.”

“Who are those gods of Earth?”

“They are the local gods. They are like separate from the outer ones. They take care of Earth, because the clue is in the name… werewolves are their creatures, right? And Scott is like a chosen champion of them.”

“What do you mean?” Isaac looked positively worried now.

“This is part of what Terry told me, and part what I’ve been reading about…” Stiles was not looking at Isaac, but rather cautiously looking out the door, as if fearing something or someone might come and _find_ them discussing secret, arcane knowledge. “Terry—Nyarlathotep,” he corrected himself, “told me that he had a plan for Scott. I thought that he meant that Scott was to decide whether the mi-go got to rule over the nemeton or not… But he also said that _you_ were part of the plan.”

Stiles fidgeted nervously and his voice trembled as he remembered the fateful day when he and Lydia were transported to the backroom of Terry’s library; where Nyarlathotep himself had a chat with them.

“And ever since you mentioned that he had talked to you and called you a dreamwalker and a wolf knight I’ve been thinking that again this might be a test?”

“What do you mean a test?” Isaac did not like where the conversation was going.

“If you have a path… a _destiny_ still to fulfil, right? Your words, not mine. Well, it makes sense that the Dreamlands is where we need to go, so you can do whatever you’ve been chosen to do and… dunno? Whatever happens later.”

“I don’t want any destiny thrown at me,” Isaac rejected Stiles’ interpretation. “I- I- I’m a _werewolf_! I can chose my own destiny! And anyways, since when has playing along an insane outer god done us any good?”

“Trust me, if this has anything to do with Nyarlathotep, then we must play along. We play the game and take our chances, because otherwise it could get nasty.”

“Oh, you mean being pawns to an outer being that wants to do what exactly? Nevermind—we either play along or else we get destroyed?”

Stiles’ hand began to shake as he remembered the visions of what might happen _if_ they did not play by the rules that the outer god had planted in his mind.

“Please, Isaac, listen. Nyarlathotep said that when there was a conflict between outer gods and the gods of Earth they solved it through their champions,” Stiles felt sweat forming on his forehead as he remembered when the god of the Thousand Masks told him that. “That means that this creature might be coming here looking for us!”

“Where the hell did you get that from?”

“I don’t know…” Stiles threw his hands in the air. He was thinking at a hundred miles an hour. “I’m just making this up as we go. It’s just because you said that this creature is aethereal and cold? As if from some other dimension? What if it is something that has crawled out of the Dreamlands?”

“So this creature is coming out of the Dreamlands to force us _into_ the Dreamlands?”

“No… I don’t know. I still need to think this over. But we cannot keep our dreamy adventures from the rest of the pack anymore,” Stiles decided, shaking Isaac to the core.

“Please, let’s not do that?” the werewolf muttered in a low voice, looking down at his own feet.

“I don’t understand why you are so _against_ telling the rest? Surely now that there is a potentially oneiric creature running around is the moment to tell Scott? I know you’re not telling him, and I can tell because you two look like shit.”

With that Isaac sat on the floor, his back against the door, and his face in his hands.

“Hey, hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” Stiles was quickly by his side.

“If I tell him, then it means it’s real… It means that it’s not just me freaking out because of the anniversary: it means that something is actually happening, and it’s going to go wrong.”

“Whoa, Isaac, no, no… You know you’re dating a flipping true alpha who has saved this town more than once, right? God, you singlehandedly dismantled a creepy demonic invocation by an entire village of cultists!”

“Stiles, every single time I’ve been in one of these, something has gone horribly _wrong_ and all my life has been turned upside down,” Isaac said, running his fingers through his hair as he thought about all the good things he had lost forever over the years, starting with his mum and finishing with his quiet life in France. “And I can’t lose Scott, Stiles. I can’t risk losing him…”

Stiles then did something that Isaac had never expected. He took Isaac’s hands and put them down, and with his finger he lifted the werewolf’s chin so they were looking eye to eye.

“Isaac, you know Scott is my brother—“

“I’m the actual step-brother.”

“Leave your creepy step-brother porno thoughts out of it, I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Sorry…”

“Hey, hey, Isaac. Scott’s my best friend, you’re his boyfriend, and I haven’t seen Scott as happy as he is with you in literal years. And we’re both packmates. Don’t you think for a second I am going to let any space god or bad dream get in the way of you two or us three, you hear me?”

Isaac nodded silently. He had never thought Stiles would be the one giving him the pep talk. He never imagined that his friend would land a kiss on his forehead and ruffle his hair as Isaac normally did to Liam.

“You ready to break some nasty news?”

***

Isaac and Stiles bumped into Melissa down the corridor. She could see in Isaac’s face he had been upset, and stopped both boys with a stern and worried face.

“What have you done to my boy?” Mrs McCall asked Stiles with an icy glare while, at the same time, cupped Isaac’s cheeks with her warm and loving hands.

“We’ve just had a chat, honest!” Stiles put his hands up.

Isaac chuckled and leant in to get a hug from Melissa. “It’s okay, mum. We just need to find Scott.”

“You know I don’t buy that, right? But go and find him. He’s looking for you anyways.”

“Thanks, Melissa.”

“You two owe me an explanation!” she called as the two walked down the corridor.

Before they got to the room, Isaac could hear through the walls Scott and Lydia talking to someone. He told Stiles, so both hurried up. When they opened the door they saw the woman sat up in bed, having a slow conversation with Scott, with Lydia visibly translating.

“Oh, so you understand her?” was all Stiles could say before Demetria’s mouth opened in surprise.

“ _Eheu! Estisne vere peregrini cauponae Ulthari? Itan estis!_ ” the woman said and pointed at the two boys who stood by the door. Then her tone changed from surprised to fearful. “ _Cavete canes Tindali. Cavete canes Tindali!_ ”

Demetria kept repeating that last sentence until she entered a fit of coughing and, with short breath, passed out. The members of the pack were silent, Lydia looking at the unconscious Demetria, and the boys waiting for their friend to translate. The banshee slowly turned with a quizzical expression on her face and pointed her finger before speaking.

“Isaac, Stiles? Care to explain why an ancient Greek woman says she knows you from a restaurant?”

***

“Hey, Susan,” Melissa asked when she got to the front desk, “could you file this in for me? It’s for the woman with the bottle wound in 42.”

“Sure, Melissa,” nurse Walker replied with a pleasant smile as she took the folder.

“Oh, and if any of the Sheriff’s deputies come around for the statement, let them know that deputies Parrish and Tate have already done all the paperwork,” she added to make sure no unwelcome noses poked around.

“Will, do!” she nodded once again, feeling the weight of the gold medallion on her neck as she did so.

Melissa thanked her with a smile and a gentle tap on the desktop while she walked away further into the depths of the hospital.

Susan then turned around and casually opened the folder to read the results of the preliminary analyses and the patient file, where she found all the information she needed. She had already noticed the Lahey boy bringing the patient in, white as a sheet and with blood on his sleeves, even if he was clearly not hurt.

But Susan knew about werewolves. She knew what they had done the previous summer when they tried to connect through the Lord of the Thousand Masks with the masters from Yuggoth. But she knew that she had another chance, for she had recovered _the_ book. She had the _Nameless Cults_. And now that the Sleepers and the Hound were finally in Beacon Hills, the time had come for her to move on to the next phase of her Master’s plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this marks the beginning of the second half of the book! I've got the next 8/10 chapters lined up but I guess we'll be finisihng in ch. 33 or 34.
> 
> Hope you are all staying safe!


	17. The Hounds of Tindalos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wadsworth quotes these as having been said by Curwen: ‘They are coming for me. I looked into their monstrous empty eyes and now they’ve seen me! Run away from here lest they see into you too. The Hounds, the aethereal Hounds from beyond the rift! They will come through the corner, because that’s how they enter. They break to our world through the corner, and they are coming for me!’.
> 
> OR: the pack gets a first glimpse at what the creature in Beacon Hills is

“ _Cavete canes Tindali. Cavete canes Tindali!_ ”

Isaac and Stiles heard the woman saying something aloud they did not understand, but Lydia’s was looking at them as if they had broken grandma’s vase in the living room and had glued it back badly together without telling anyone.

“Isaac, Stiles? Care to explain why an ancient Greek woman says she knows you from a restaurant?”

The question lingered in the room as Isaac and Stiles froze where they stood. Isaac’s brain tried to locate the face of the woman somewhere lost in his memories, but he could only remember her from that morning, running towards him, her face distorted in terror.

“What restaurant?” Stiles blurted after an uncomfortable few seconds. “We’ve never seen this woman in our lives, right Isaac? I- I- I would remember meeting someone from the _past_?”

Demetria went on a long and excited explanation immediately after Stiles finished, hardly taking time to breathe, but pointing at them repeatedly while she pulled Lydia’s shirt for extra emphasis. She repeated over and over again something about _caupona_ , _tabernarii_ , _Ulthar_ , and _canes Tindali_. Those words meant nothing to Stiles or Isaac, but Lydia was clearly making some sense of all that. They began to feel uncomfortable when Scott looked at Demetria and then slowly at them, waiting for the Greek woman to stop her half-accusatory, half-warning speech so the two of them could give a satisfactory explanation.

“ _Lydia! Sed tres erant qui lucum primo nominaverunt! Qui lucum vigoraverunt!_ ” she concluded before looking at Lydia.

“ _Tres aderant in… caupona_?” Lydia asked back, trying to confirm she had understood correctly.

“Okay… what is all this stuff about the restaurant? _Where_ is this supposed restaurant? Because I don’t know who this woman is,” Stiles insisted. Isaac was too busy thinking, sifting through his memory in case he knew that woman.

“Stiles, she says you… did something to a sacred tree. I didn’t understand the word she used and I haven’t got my dictionary. She says that you talked about the nemeton in this… restaurant or shop. A _caupona_. Now, where did she get that idea from?” Lydia had closed her eyes, trying to make more sense of the quick blurt of Latin she had quickly and roughly translated.

“I would like to think I’m a very observant person, and I would remember having dinner with an Ancient Greek woman.”

“Stiles, just knock it off,” Scott warned, his patience running as short as Lydia’s and sensing that Stiles was telling less than what he knew. “Try to give us a straight answer for once? This woman certainly knows about you two—“

“ _Three_ ,” Lydia interrupted.

“What?”

“She says there were three of them in this restaurant.”

Isaac turned slowly to look at Stiles, whose face showed that he was in overdrive, trying to make sense of that new fact. “Can you ask her about the third person?” he asked through squinted eyes.

Lydia huffed and closed her eyes as she slowly put words together. After three failed attempts, she pulled out her phone and started typing furiously.

“You okay, Lyds?” Scott asked.

“Latin is not the kind of language you learn for _conversation_ ,” she said, as she kept typing in what Scott guessed was a dictionary.

Isaac, who had a dangerous idea floating around, pulled his own phone out and searched through his camera roll until he found a picture of him and Liam from that spring, out in their camping trip to Montana. _Three of us in a restaurant…_ He handed the phone to Lydia.

“Ask her if he’s the third,” the werewolf asked tentatively.

Stiles, who had seen the photograph, suddenly went pale as a sheet and he tried to swallow, but his throat was completely dry. Scott, who was still observing the two other boys, immediately noticed how realisation hit them like a truck.

Lydia looked at Isaac, asking with her gaze and a perfectly arched eyebrow a hundred different questions, but Isaac just nodded and waved his hand indicating her to show the picture to Demetria. The Greek woman had not understood a word of the exchange, but she had seen Isaac handing something to Lydia which was clearly for _her_ , so she waited for Lydia to show. Then she saw Liam.

“ _Is est tertius tabernarius!_ ” she yelped before exploding again in an uninterrupted Latin rant, in which she repeated over and over again _cavete canes Tindali_. Lydia did her best to translate what Demetria was saying while Scott listened carefully. Stiles and Isaac, however, were having a silent conversation of their own, because the only ‘restaurant’ in which they had been talking about a nemeton with Liam had been the tavern in Ulthar in the Dreamlands. They did not have to voice their worries – both of them immediately understood that someone from the Dreamlands had found them. The chances of that being a coincidence were the same as those of an ice-lolly in hell.

“Stiles!” Lydia’s voice snapped them out of their slightly terrified stupor. He knew immediately that he was now treading on very thin ice around his girlfriend.

“Yeah, sorry. No, I don’t know, but yeah. I think we might know her in a manner of speaking.”

“You didn’t hear a thing about what we just said?” she said, rapidly losing her temper.

“Isaac, Stiles; does this have anything to do with what you are _not_ telling us?” Scott asked directly. His tone clearly indicated that he had had enough.

“About the tavern...” Isaac began to explain after an uncomfortable few silent seconds, but was unceremoniously interrupted.

“ _Forget_ the tavern. Christ!” Lydia snapped. “The dogs! The dogs of Tindalus!”

“ _What_?” Stiles and Isaac asked in unison.

“ _You_ are not bright enough for a watt!” she hissed back. “Oh my God, Scott, there’s something very wrong with them,” she told the alpha before turning to look straight into their two now-terrified boyfriends. “Just please pay attention?”

“She insists that we have to be careful about the dogs of Tindalus. Some sort of creature—“ Scott explained.

“The creature that attacked her. That attacked _you,_ ” Lydia pointed. “Do you know what it is?”

“No…” Stiles admitted.

“Well, it seems we’ve got a research topic now,” Lydia scoffed. She then pointed at Stiles. “You, go through the bestiary. We need to find out what this dog is. You two,” she pointed at Scott and Isaac. “You go and ask Deaton and your other druid friend in England.”

“He’s not from Eng—“

“Isaac Lahey,” Lydia fumed. Isaac looked briefly (he dared not break eye contact with Lydia for too long) at Scott for support, but his boyfriend’s eyes were hard and cold as he had never seen. They were hurt and disappointed. Something inside Isaac shattered and his inner wold whined. “This is not the moment for you to be a smartarse, you hear me? You _two_ have been hiding something; something that now is, _literally_ , biting back.”

Stiles patted Isaac’s shoulder silently before sitting down on the chair and pulling his phone out to browse through the bestiary. Lydia stormed out of the room shaking her head and mumbling something about water, fresh air, and _men_. Scott walked to Isaac and with a nod and a sad smile pointed at the door. Isaac slouched his shoulders and looked down as he followed his alpha out to the corridor; a voice which he had buried away to the furthest corners of his mind creeped back to the surface. _Look what you’ve done. You don’t deserve any of this. You brought it upon yourself. You’ll always be a disappointment. It was a matter of time before these people around you found out._

Isaac froze at the door, sensing that once he was out that room and facing Scott there would be no return. He felt his throat closing and his head spin.

Then Scott grabbed his hand and gave it a kind and gentle squeeze, bringing a bright beam of sunshine into Isaac’s darkening world. He felt Scott’s inner wolf coming back for him, nudging him encouragingly and nuzzling his own inner wolf. _Nothing is wrong. It’s not too late. I love you_.

Isaac wished he could believe that.

***

Out in the preserve the air was still and warm. Malia left the car by the edge of the road and walked all the way up to the quarry, keeping her eyes and ears open; after all, an unknown and dangerous monster was still roaming around. While she walked the paths that she had spent so many years treading as a coyote, she could only think how even after a handful of years as a human, she still found seeing the shrubs and rocks and branches from so high up disconcerting.

Along that path, Malia walked through the clearing where they had the fight with the mi-go the previous summer. She even saw the tree against which one of the aliens from Yuggoth had been reduced to a pile of orange pulp by an explosion of solid light. A few yards away was the cave hole down which Isaac had fallen and almost lost his sanity. Malia shook her head and walked as briskly as she could to get away from that grove.

Eventually she made it to the quarry. Not that that place held any better memories, but at least Parrish was out there waiting for her.

“Tate,” he waved in her direction.

“Parrish,” she saluted back.

“Why don’t you have a look here,” he was talking deliberately vaguely because the paramedics (who were there to assess the shocked witness who had found the corpse and to take the body away) were still within earshot, even if they were standing beyond the cordoned zone.

Malia crouched by the body and pulled out a pen from her pocket to poke the body – one of the habits the Sheriff had been very insistent on her picking up. The body—the _person—_ had crawled back to a foetal position and brought their hands to their face. The skin was as thin as parchment, and of an unhealthy yellowish tone. It was also crackly and dry to a crisp. The skin was also wrinkly, giving the person the appearance of an overly dried raisin, except in those parts where it sat directly on the bones, where the tissue had tensed around, clearly marking out the joints. All the muscle and fatty tissues seemed drained, which she could tell even through the now baggy clothes. If that was not disconcerting enough, then the gaping circular hole in the chest, with needle-like tooth marks, definitely was.

“So… who’s the prune?”

“Well, according to the driving license, this is Mark Dylan Dixon, age twenty-three,” Parrish whispered through his teeth. The body definitely did not look like only a couple of years older than Malia.

“Where are his _eyes_?”

Parrish huffed at the lack of tact, but replied anyways. “I don’t want to venture, but I guess they were sucked through that hole, much like the rest of the insides,” the deputy said as he pointed and tried to fight back the bile climbing up his throat.

“ _GROSS_.”

“Yeah, well…”

Malia stood up, hands on her hips, and whistling inwards. She looked around for any hints of the mysterious creature that had done that. She then turned in such a way that she was facing _away_ from the paramedics, and lowered her voice.

“This is the same bite mark that the woman Isaac found here in the preserve this morning had, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

An idea suddenly occurred to her. Her blood froze in her veins at the thought. “So this is what could have happened to Isaac?”

Parrish bit his lip and refused to answer, simply on the grounds that he did not know for certain, but his silence was all Malia needed to know.

“Does Scott know?”

There was another thought. Isaac would probably shrug at the thought of what might have happened if that creature had sunk its teeth in him. Maybe he would have joked about it. But Scott? Scott would go _mental_. He would go full protective alpha, all hair and teeth and glowing red eyes. Malia had only seen Scott like that once—and that had been the previous summer, when Isaac disappeared down the cave.

“Not in so many words. Not yet,” Parrish admitted. “Not all the details. I was waiting for your opinion.”

Malia gave him a glare that clearly expressed ‘you _coward_ ’, but Parrish just shrugged his shoulders and gave her a nervous smile.

“Well, _boss_ ,” she underlined, lobbing the ball to his court. “What do we do next?”

With that gentle reminder, Parrish put back his figurative deputy hat on. They were in an official investigation, after all, and he was the senior deputy. Pack business always had to operate besides the law, under the radar.

“The only witness we have is that poor shocked woman who found the body” Parrish pointed discreetly at where the paramedics were. “Otherwise, we have to sweep around this area, looking for any sort of tracks. Or at least pretend we’re looking for tracks…” he added through the side of his mouth. “For the report, of course.”

“I have the earlier witness statement back in the car. I think this was not an animal attack. Mr Lahey mentioned something about a madman with a broken bottle?” she reminded him of what Melissa had written in the medical report.

Parrish nodded and went off to see the witness. Meanwhile, Malia surreptitiously took some pictures of the body with her phone while Parrish talked to the paramedics and the witness. She forwarded them to Lydia with a quick text saying ‘you tell Scott’ before she kneeled down to look and sniff for clues.

***

Jackson and Ethan drove up the lane that took them to the old Hale House. Or, at least, where the old Hale House _used_ to be, seeing that now the site was occupied by the abandoned Rangers’ Office. Or, at least, as far as the road block that obstructed access to the cordoned-off zone, where they had to park and walk the rest of the way.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Jackson asked with a furrowed brow when they locked the car, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re the one who spoke with him.”

Scott had rung Ethan earlier that morning, telling that they were in the hospital, that Isaac had been attacked by a creature (but that he was okay), but that they needed to go and check if there were any traces of the creature in the preserve.

“He did not say much. But Liam and Derek should be coming too. What was it that you said last summer about what happens when we come back to Beacon Hills?” he added in a lighter, sarcastic tone.

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Jackson replied in monotone. Last summer he had said that they could never get a proper holiday in California while the nemeton was still active. “But do you think this has anything to do with whatever Isaac has been hiding?” Jackson confessed.

Jackson would not stop thinking about it; thinking about how Isaac had been acting _weird_ all summer. During the rest of the year, when he and Ethan were back in the UK, they were texting each other every day. In fact, Jackson had an entire collection of memes that Isaac himself created. It had not been a secret that Isaac had been a nervous wreck during the week leading to his final exam, so Jackson had not been surprised when he sensed the waves of anxious relief and comfort that irradiated from Isaac when they had their first reunion of the summer. But after that he had been distant and cold – very unlike the new Isaac he had met in France. During the pack Fourth of July barbeque the other beta had been withdrawn, and when they met at the old Lahey house to clear it out and fix it, Isaac had been apprehensive to the point of anguish. Everyone thought it was because of the memories Isaac associated to that house, but Jackson was not convinced. His fears were confirmed when Scott asked him to have a chat with Isaac, because even his boyfriend could not deny any longer that there was something wrong. A part of Jackson feared that for some reason Isaac was reverting to his pre-bite days, when he was hiding something big and dangerous from everyone, and simply hoped that nobody would notice, so his life could continue unchanged.

Neither Ethan nor Jackson had the faintest clue about what was going on with Isaac or what he was hiding. Scott had mentioned something about nightmares and not being able to sleep and the anniversary of the encounter last summer with the cultist and the mi-go. But they did not know how dreams could do that to Isaac.

“Hey,” Ethan called when he saw Derek standing quietly by a tree, looking at the place where his house had once been. Liam was standing by his side, looking suspiciously fidgety. “Have you been waiting for long?”

“Not much. But Derek was here already when I got here,” Liam replied. His voice was not steady, and his eyes shifted sideways, as if he expected whatever creature had attacked Isaac to come back for them.

“Isaac was attacked by whatever ghostly creature Scott described here,” Derek explained as he led the other werewolves to a spot not that far from where they had met. “It also attacked a woman who was running around.” He stopped at a point where the three of them could smell where Isaac had been. “This is where Isaac and the woman were on the floor.”

The four werewolves looked carefully around. There was a patch of flattened grass where Isaac had laid. There were hints of the chemosignals their friend had produced when he was in pain, which sent a shiver up the werewolves’ spines. There was a fresh whiff of blood, but it must have belonged to the woman that was attacked.

“There is no scent of the creature,” Ethan said what everyone else was thinking. “It is as if it had not been here at all.”

“Her footsteps and scent seem to come from this direction,” Jackson called as he walked through the trees. “She came from that part of the Rangers’ Office.”

“And Isaac came from that other direction,” Derek pointed out, still standing where Isaac had fallen.

“I think I’ve got something!” Jackson yelled from a few metres away. Ethan was quick to run to his boyfriend, but Derek had to push Liam (who seemed to have frozen where he stood) to follow.

“At this point is where she started to panic,” Jackson pointed to a spot on the ground. “But…. but she was coming from _that_ way,” Jackson looked at the fresh foot prints. “And then she turned towards Isaac…”

“She turned away from something?” Ethan asked. “This must be where she saw the creature.”

Derek got to where the couple stood and then looked in the opposite direction, towards the place from where the woman had fled. Towards the place she had seen the creature.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Derek said after walking a few paces without smelling anything that screamed ‘monster’. “She was running away from the Rangers’ Office?”

“Maybe the creature has nested there?”

Derek walked towards the cordoned building, which now loomed in front of him. A year ago, Derek had been in that building fighting cultists and liberating Peter.

“Can you smell this?” Derek said in a low voice when he reached the walls. “The creature definitely came from here.”

“Let’s go find the nest,” Jackson said with a smirk as he theatrically rolled up his yellow summer shirt’s sleeves.

“It’s not from the inside,” Derek said as he traced his fingers carefully along the corner of the building. “The acrid smell starts here.”

“Outside?”

“Not just outside… Out of this _corner_?” Derek half-asked, hoping that his insane idea might make more sense if he said it aloud. Judging by Ethan and Jackson’s puzzled look, it did not.

Derek and Ethan walked around the building, looking for anything else that might prove useful or relevant, while Jackson stood by the corner and looked it up and down and scratched his head. Once his boyfriend and former alpha were behind the building, Jackson turned around and walked to the tree line where Liam was still standing.

“Okay, Dunbar; what is all this about?” Jackson asked in a low voice, arms crossed across his chest and looking out of the corner of his eye for either Derek or Ethan to appear.

“I- I- I dunno what you mean?” Liam mumbled. Jackson rolled his eyes.

“You’re worse at this that Stiles. You’ve been off all morning. _You_ know something.”

“I haven’t got the faintest clue about what happened here today,” Liam defended himself. He was very capable of pinning Jackson to the ground, but he feared that if he snapped he would only make it clear and evident that he knew something.

“You and Isaac have been best buddies recently, haven’t you?”

“Are you _jealous_?”

“Cut the crap, Liam,” Jackson did not take the bait. He kept on track. “Some fresh hell is opening up here and Isaac got hurt. It’s time to drop whatever late teenage moody crap you are in now.”

“ _Jacks_ …” Ethan called from behind. “What are you doing to Liam?”

“He _knows_ something, babe,” Jackson replied, his eyes now drilling into Liam’s.

“What are you two doing?” Derek asked.

“I think Liam knows something,” Jackson said again. “He, Stilinski and Isaac have been very weird around each other this summer.”

“You’ve hardly _seen_ them this—“

“And _still_ ,” Jackson insisted. “I noticed. Please, tell me either of you can see it too?”

There was a tense pause after the question. Derek and Ethan looked at each other and then at both Jackson and Liam. The entire situation had clearly altered the youngest beta in a way that hardly screamed innocence.

“What have you three been up to?”

“Jackson, stop it,” Derek ordered. He might not have been the alpha any more, but he still had some authority over the wolves he had bitten. Jackson huffed and walked away from Liam, but Ethan stopped him before he stormed further away.

“Liam, is there something us or the rest of the pack should know?” Derek tried his most welcoming tone. Liam was surprised Derek _had_ one, even if, in Liam’s opinion, it was not as inviting as the other werewolf hoped.

“It’s probably nothing,” Liam admitted. “Nothing to do with this, at least. I’m just worried about Isaac.”

“You’re worried about Isaac… because of something else?” Ethan prompted before Jackson could say something with more of a bite.

“It’s just that we’ve been having similar nightmares,” Liam lied through his teeth, but it was true enough, so the other werewolves did not notice. “I don’t see how the two things could be related. It’s just that without those nightmares Isaac would not have been out here today…”

Jackson rolled his eyes and bit his lip. His eyes might have flashed too, but Ethan put a hand on his chest and stopped him before he did something stupid.

“Okay, everyone calm down,” Derek insisted. “Liam says that it is unrelated, which makes sense, and there is nothing we can do about it if it isn’t. Let’s go inside the building,” he ordered. “We may find a trace of the creature which is not a sulphur-smelling corner.”

***

Isaac and Scott walked along the hospital corridors in silence with the alpha leading the way. Because Isaac could not see his boyfriend’s face, he could not read his expression, so he had no idea about what they were going to do outside. His only thought was that Scott was going to demand an explanation, which was fair, and then get mad at him for not telling him, which he would deserve, and then… and then he would rather not think about what might happen after that.

They walked all the way to the main desk without bumping into their mother, for which Isaac was thankful (there was no way she would let him walk a step further, because she could read him like a book). Only nurse Walker waved at them with a smile as they passed by.

Isaac nearly stopped dead in his tracks when he caught a whiff of a familiar scent. Something unsettling, something he had not smelled in a long time, but as soon as he registered it, the scent disappeared amidst the other hospital smells. He blinked a couple of times and then they were outside.

“Scott, I’m sorry,” Isaac mumbled when they finally got outside the hospital before Scott said anything. “I- I- I… I should have told you earlier.”

“Hey, Isaac,” Scott turned to look up into his boyfriend’s eyes, putting his hands at either side of his neck, his thumb gently brushing Isaac’s cheek. “It’s not too late.” Isaac noticed how Scott had not said ‘no need to be sorry’ or some of his other usual comforting phrases. It hurt. “But right now is not the time to unpack that, because we need to ring Deaton and Iestyn.”

Isaac nodded silently and tried to push Scott away, but his boyfriend would not let go,

“Babe, I still love you, you know that, right? Nothing ever will change that.”

Isaac hung his head until they both were leaning against each other. The beta remained silent.

“It’s not about the monster, or about the time traveller… it’s about being able to talk to each other.” Scott told when he pushed them apart, this time venturing a smile which churned Isaac’s insides into a mush. He could not fight a smile of his own forming on his face. “Next time can you just tell me, please?”

“Well… Seeing that Lydia is making such a _fuss_ … I think I will,” Isaac said, faking tiredness.

Scott chuckled, but he forced himself to be serious again. “Are you going to tell me, though?”

“Yeah,” Isaac exhaled. Now he _was_ tired. “Yeah… I will.”

“Later today?” the alpha insisted.

Isaac found himself slouching and scratching the back of his head as he nodded silently, before Scott sighed with unexpected relief. He then pulled Isaac in for a quick kiss and he turned around to walk back into the hospital.

Isaac could only silently follow close behind him.

***

Scott rang Deaton, and the veterinarian, in his usual way, said nothing other than he would be coming to the hospital. Meanwhile, Isaac sat on the curb and rang Iestyn to ask if he knew where tindalus was, why it was famous for its dogs, and why they attacked Ancient Greek women. Scott sat by his side all the time holding Isaac’s hand in his, although the beta refused to look anywhere but his own shoes.

“Well, I don’t know anything about that Tindalus place or their dogs,” the druid explained after Isaac gave him a short version of what happened earlier that morning. “I’ve never come across these dogs. I know about the gwyllgi and Black Shuck, which are a type of black giant ghost dog with a flaming red eye.”

Isaac mumbled to Scott to write those two things down, in case they were of any help.

“Cheers, Iestyn.”

“Okay, who’s pissed in your cereal?”

“My what?” Isaac replied, slightly shocked.

“You’re in a shitty mood again, and it has nothing to do with that stupid dog you’re chasing. Is it still them dreams of yours?”

Scott heard that perfectly, and Isaac sensed him tensing.

“Can I, erm… maybe ring you later?”

“Hang on, butt; hang _on_. Wait a second. Let me see if I can guess” Iestyn coughed dramatically. “Have you by chance bottled up all these weeks, not told Scott about your worries despite what I told you, but he’s found out, called your crap, and now you’re freaking out?”

Isaac was silent for a second while Scott rubbed his back gently. The beta did not have the will to shrug his boyfriend’s hand off.

“Sort of…” Isaac admitted, which was followed by a few expressions in Welsh he was sure he did not want to understand.

“Alright, alright… I’ll ring you later if I find something about these dogs of yours. But you better sort this out with Scott now, you hear me?”

“Yeah…” Isaac buried his face in his hand, feeling his cheeks flushing.

“You don’t want me travelling all the way there just to kick your furry werewolf balls in.”

They said their goodbyes, and when Isaac looked up, he saw Scott sat by him, pulling up a brave smile.

“He’ll let us know if he finds something,” Isaac mumbled.

“I know. I heard.”

Because, of course, Scott had heard. He had heard _everything_. And yet, he was still by Isaac, on arm around his shoulders and another on his knee.

“Come on,” Scott said, after softly kissing Isaac’s head. “Let’s go inside and tell Lydia and Stiles. Maybe they’ve had better luck than us.”

Back in the room, Demetria was trying to have a conversation with Lydia, while Stiles flicked through his phone, mumbling how it would be easier if he had his laptop or his books. By the time Deaton arrived with a large book under his arm, Stiles had instructed Isaac and Scott to look in their own phones, because he was finding nothing about Tindalus or its dogs. They were fairly certain that they were not a type of shape shifter, and there was nothing in Greek mythology as far as they could tell that related to aethereal dogs (and they had soon discarded ideas of Old Shuck and the gwyllgi, because those were British names for the Hellhound).

“They are not dogs, but _hounds_ ; and it would be Tindal _os_ in Greek, and not Tindal _us_ , in Latin,” Deaton said once he was in the room, immediately drawing all their attention to him.

Demetria looked at the man who had just walked into the room and immediately went silent. Something inside her told her that he was the druid they had been looking for.

“ _Salve, mi domina. Censeo vos et sodales druidem postulavisse?_ ” he addressed the woman in bed with a respectful bow.

Lydia explained that Deaton had introduced himself as the druid Demetria and her companions had been looking for while the two had an intense conversation in Latin. Stiles and Scott asked Lydia to translate more, but she struggled understanding. Stiles had never seen Lydia so academically frustrated in his life. When Demetria pleaded and begged again, while whispering about the Hounds of Tindalos and looking nervously at the corners of the room, Deaton nodded silently and turned around.

“What was all that about? And what else do you know?” Scott and Stiles asked simultaneously.

Deaton put his hands up, asking for silence. “What do you know about the dangers of time travelling?” he added with a sly smile.

“Is this about not killing your grandfather?” Stiles said with a smile. “Because _Endgame_ very clearly says that all of that is categorically not true. Don’t you look at me like that! The Hulk said so, therefore it must be _true_!”

“Be that as it may, that is not the danger I am talking about,” Deaton said as he put the book on the bed tray for everyone to see. “This is a heavily censored edition of _Of Evill Sorceries done in New-England of Daemons in no Humane Shape_. The original is most probably lost to the general public, and only fragments or unconfirmed copies exist. This edition, however, is safe to read—“

“ _Safe_ to read? It’s a book?” Scott said with a light chuckle, but nobody in the room seemed to agree. Every one of them had had some degree of interaction with books that contained a certain type of occult information. “Or is it like the _Dread Doctors_ novel?”

“As I said, _this_ one is safe to read, and even so this crippled version is very much out of print. The book gives an account of the Massachusetts witch trials.”

“Salem?” Scott guessed, hoping he would have this one right.

“Not just Salem,” Stiles explained, his eyes fixed on the book but not daring to touch it. “Salem is just the one that people know about, because the other ones were too gruesome. Newburyport, Arkham, and Innsmouth… there was more than people saying their milk had been curdled by a neighbour.”

The room seemed to go darker at the mention of those three quiet towns of coastal Massachusetts. Isaac searched for Scott’s hand and his boyfriend squeezed it. Lydia silently processed the explanation, staring at the distance. Demetria could sense what was being discussed, and did not interrupt.

“This book contains fragments of trial transcripts, and descriptions of the evidence that was destroyed and burned after the trials ended. One of these documents appears to be a translation of the Pnakotic manuscripts.”

Scott and Isaac did not understand the implications of that title, but they could see the way Stiles, Lydia, and Demetria’s faces _changed_ when that name was mentioned. Even in a bright summer morning, the room felt cold.

“There is a prophecy that reads ‘seven sleepers will awake a long-forgotten evil’. The sleepers that travel through time walled themselves in a cave in Ephesus and they appear all across the Middle Ages. They discovered the secrets of time travelling to reach the origin of Earth, and much like Icarus they got too close, and in one of their travels they drew the attention of a Hound of Tindalos.”

“ _Canis Tindali_.” Demetria whispered.

“Wait, doc, how do you know all this?” Stiles asked, still staring in awe at the book.

“After what happened last year I was in contact with some old acquaintances of mine who, in exchange from some leftovers from the mi-go, were willing to give me access to their library.”

“What are these hounds?” Scott asked, more to the point.

Deaton then opened the book on a particular page.

“In 1692 Thomas Wadsworth, testified during the trial of the local apothecary Ebenezer Curwen. Curwen had been accused of having killed several animals and children. He was seen burying bodies in his back garden for months, and even if nobody in town had gone missing, that was suspicious enough for him to be arrested. Wadsworth in his testimony ventured that Curwen was summoning demons and experimenting with them. He explained that every Monday he would go to shave Mr Curwen, but that something was off, because one week he looked like his normal self and the next week he was an older man with graying hair. The following week Curwen would have his usual black hair, without any hint of age or dye in his hair. Wadsworth also explained how Curwen seemed to never be sure of what day of the month (or even what month) it was.”

“Yeah, yeah, so some pilgrim chemist was travelling through time and burying bodies in his garden. That has nothing to do with the Hounds,” Stiles snapped impatiently.

“The last day Wadsworth went to Curwen’s house, the man had aged ten years and refused to have his beard shaved. He had burned all his furniture out in his front door and was frantically applying plaster to his living room, smoothing all the corners, turning it into a rounded room. And here, is where the Hounds, Mr Stilinski, come in. Wadsworth quotes these as having been said by Curwen: ‘They are coming for me. I looked into their monstrous empty eyes and now they’ve _seen_ me! Run away from here lest they see into you too. The Hounds, the aethereal Hounds from beyond the rift! They will come through the corner, because that’s how they enter. They break to our world through the corner, and they are coming for _me_!’. After that Wadsworth went to the magistrates and Curwen was arrested.”

The room was completely silent when Deaton finished reading aloud from the book.

“There is not enough information about the Hounds of Tindalos, because they always find their target. This is as close as we get to a description,” Deaton closed the book carefully for emphasis. “They are aethereal creatures from another dimension, that track those who travel in time, because they cross through their dimension. I gather that they are called Hounds simply because they chase, not because they are related in any way to our world canids.”

“So this creature that comes from corners is looking for time travellers?” Scott asked.

“It’s looking for time travellers and any other creature that looks into its eyes,” Deaton clarified.

“That’s why she threw that cloak on me?” Isaac asked looking at Demetria, remembering what had happened in the morning. “So I would not look into its eyes?”

The woman, sensing the attention back on her, went on another non-stop rant in quick Latin. Isaac did not understand any of it, but he could see her kind eyes close to tears looking into his. Despite the language barrier she could interpret Isaac’s confused expression of gratitude, and smiled warmly at him.

Someone else that Isaac did not hear properly spoke, and the next he heard properly was his boyfriend speaking. “So that creature is now in Beacon Hills?”

“Wounded, hopefully,” Isaac remarked, clenching his fist, feeling the ghost cold burning on his skin.

“I am not sure those creatures can be easily hurt,” Deaton warned.

“That Hound is out here and hunting for the _sleepers_.”

“So it’s coming here for _her_?” Scott pointed at Demetria, who read the room and suddenly looked very concerned.

“I think that it’s being distracted by non-time travellers who just happen to walk in front of it,” Stiles clarified.

“You mean, people in the preserve? Like all the werewolves that are actively looking for this creature right there, right _now_?” Lydia said with alarm.

Isaac looked at Scott, who was gaping at Lydia’s question. He could hear the cogs working behind his boyfriend’s eyes; he could sense the idea steadily forming. _God, he’s a dork,_ he thought with a smile. Scott blinked and reached for his phone.

***

“There was nothing in there,” Derek confirmed once they were out of the building.

“If we haven’t smelled any trace of the creature outside, I don’t see why we would have in there,” Ethan retorted. “Maybe it hasn’t got a smell.”

They were discussing their theories and ideas when Jackson’s phone rang.

“Hey, McCall,” he answered as an unnatural plane of smoke projected directly out of the corner where they were stood. “Yeah, we’re still here, we haven’t found anything yet.”

“Babe…” Ethan called and Jackson turned around.

Behind them the corner of the building was oozing an acrid and sulphuric stench. The werewolves stepped back as they watched a screen of smoke forming at an angle that bisected the building’s corner. A thunder-like noise rumbled from that aethereal plane as it became increasingly solid. The werewolves stepped further back. Derek was already growling and drawing out claws.

“ _Do you hear me Jackson?_ ” Scott yelled at the other end of the line. “ _Jackson? Are you there? Jackson!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curwen is the surname of the main antagonist in HP Lovecraft's "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward", who summons spirits from the past to his basement. I guess he'd have some other weird and dodgy relative.


	18. The howl out of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Liam tried to step back.  
> “What’s wrong?”  
> But before Liam could answer, he was screaming in pain again. The four werewolves felt the massive aethereal creature barging into them with a nerve-wracking growl and all its weight.
> 
> OR: Liam, Jackson, Derek and Ethan have a first encounter with the Hound, while Isaac and Stiles have to finally spill the beans about their dream-time shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name is a beta saint with never-ending patience and a much keener eye than I do.

The solid plane of dark green and purple smoke that emerged from the corner turned into an opening, a vertical abyss crackling with lightning and a noise unsettlingly similar to slowly tearing cloth. The pungent smell around it became so strong that it hurt the sensitive noses of the four werewolves.

“It’s coming. From there,” Derek guessed while everyone stared. “That’s the monster.”

“ _Jackson! Can you hear me?_ ” Scott kept yelling from the phone.

At that point, a pointed and ghostly snout popped out from the interdimensional portal, followed by an ungodly rumbling howl, like a growl echoing in a cavern, shaking the foundations of the mountains above.

“ _Jackson, listen. Don’t look at its eyes, you hear me?_ ” Scott kept yelling. “ _Don’t open your eyes! Don’t let it see you!_ ”

“Everybody down!” Jackson screamed when the monster’s head was fully out. Everyone did as they were told. “Cover your eyes!”

The werewolves felt (rather than heard) the landing of four heavy aethereal paws on the ground, just as the portal snapped shut. The cold mist that surrounded the hound spread away from the corner, touching the prone werewolves, making them shiver in their summer clothes. It was _then_ that the hound howled. It was a howl unlike anything they had ever heard – and definitely not the howl of a werewolf. It was a howl that froze their hearts and activated hidden corners of their minds; forgotten mental crevices where primeval instincts were stored, and it sent _fear_ through their bodies.

Liam’s inner wolf yelped and begged him to _run_. Panic took over him, chocking his throat, so he began to stand up, ready to bolt and get away from that creature. But Derek shot his hand forward and grabbed Liam’s ankle, making the beta fall with a thud.

“Let me go. Let me go! _AAAAARGH_!” Liam cried in pain as the Hound clawed his leg.

“Liam!” Derek yelled as he stood up and lunged at the hound with his claws out.

“Derek, don’t look at it!” Jackson said, still lying flat on the ground, covering his face. “Scott said _don’t_ look into its eyes!”

But Derek was not listening and, with his own werewolf roar, he clawed into the flank of the hound, immediately feeling a burning icy sensation consuming the flesh of his fingers. Derek fell flat on his back, his eyes closed in pain, and clutched his injured hand under his armpit, trying in vain to warm it back to life.

The hound let out a yelp and pulled its claws off Liam’s leg to turn around towards the werewolf that had injured it. Liam let out a muffled sob of relief as he pushed himself away from the creature.

“What do you mean keep our eyes shut?” Liam managed to say as he spun around to attack the hound and help Derek. Even with his eyes closed, it was easy for him to locate the colder-than-death creature that was still very close to him. Liam guessed it must be at least five foot tall.

A snapping noise followed by Derek yelping told Jackson and Ethan that the hound must have broken one of his bones. Both opened their eyes and looked at each other before giving each other a reassuring nod, getting ready to launch themselves blindly at the creature. The hound was about to maul Derek when Liam connected a blind slashing claw into its neck, which forced the monster away from Derek while the other werewolf pulled his hand back in pain. Because the creature recoiled away from Liam, and because they had jumped forward blindly, only Ethan managed to hit the hound with his shoulder, sending it rolling away. Jackson, however, overjumped and ended up falling flat on Liam, tackling him down.

“Get _off_ me!”

“It’s difficult to fight with your eyes closed,” Jackson said as he scrambled back to his feet. He could not avoid opening his eyes then, only to see that Liam also had them open.

“Well, it was easy for Scott to say that – he’s already done it _,_ ” Liam said as he forced his eyes shut and jumped towards where he could feel the cold air coming from, only to fall flat on his face on the ground as the hound dodged the clumsy attack easily.

“What do you mean?” Jackson asked as he copied Liam, but more successfully. When the former kanima sank his claws into the monster, it kicked him away with a clawed paw, sending him flying back to Liam.

“Scott gouged his eyes out to fight the Anuk-ite,” Jackson heard Derek say before the older werewolf charged recklessly into the creature, sinking his fingers deep into a leg.

“Of course he did,” Jackson remembered as he muttered through clenched teeth and stood back up again. He forced himself to shut his eyes, even if all his instincts were telling him to look at his burning cold hand and his bleeding stomach.

The unmistakable sound of snapping jaws was followed by Ethan screaming, and Jackson forgot all about pain and blood. He set his jaw, focused all his senses in tracking the source of his boyfriend’s distress and the unmistakable cold emanated by the creature, and _charged_.

For what seemed an eternity, the four werewolves were thoroughly mauled by the hound, while they inefficiently slashed at it with their claws. The pack missed their target more often than they stroke, and even when they hit true, they felt their hands burning in the cold semi-ethereal body of the hound. More than once they thumped into each other, and Liam almost knocked himself out cold against a tree. Bleeding, injured, and frustrated, the four werewolves eventually retreated to a circle, back to back, eyes firmly shut, waiting for the hound to attack them, only to be met by silence.

“Do you—“

“Shhhh!” Derek hissed. “Focus your hearing.”

The werewolves did so, but there was nothing. Only unsettling silence.

“I think it’s g—shit!” Liam began to say as he opened his eyes, and screamed when he saw the creature for the first time.

Its face was long, and it opened in three different jaws that converged at the snout. The _tongue_ , however, was more distressing: a snaking, hollow, pink tube coming out through the sharp teeth and lined with needles that oozed an iridescent ichor. Its skin (if skin was what covered it) was of a semi-transparent shade of purple mixed with green. The revolting long body looked slick and slimy, but he knew that it was aethereal, and lacking real substance. And then Liam saw the _eyes_ : two empty pits of abysmal darkness with a single shining spot of pure light within, sitting on the bony-looking skull.

“Shit, shit, shit, _shit!_ ” Liam tried to step back.

“What’s wrong?”

But before Liam could answer, he was screaming in pain again. The four werewolves felt the massive aethereal creature barging into them with a nerve-wracking growl and all its weight. Derek and Ethan, who were at either side of Liam, felt the hound clawing and biting at their friend and lashed in unison, both sinking their claws as deep as they could into the creature, which hissed and snapped its triple jaws. There was then a terrifying squelching noise as the hound’s tongue lodged itself on Liam’s shoulder, followed by a whine of pain, to which Ethan responded with another maiming attack.

The hound, having tasted a life and having marked a target, let go of Liam and trotted away, disappearing into the crevice of a nearby pile of bricks.

“Liam! Liam are you okay?” the other three werewolves, eyes still shut, got on their knees and patted around them, trying to locate their friend.

“It’s gone,” Liam groaned as he rolled to his side to nurse his bloodied and frost-bitten hand. “You can open your eyes now.”

Derek, Ethan and Jackson looked around and at each other. They were a bloody mess. Ethan had a visibly broken ankle, which he was just setting back into place. Derek had frost-bitten fingers and slowly-healing gashes across his chest. Jackson had deep gouges along his arms where the hound had sank its teeth, and there was blood all down his face from a nasty but already closed cut across his forehead. Liam was, however, in the worst condition. His left forearm was completely crushed, and his skin pierced by a broken bone. He had a bruised face and two sets of claw marks on his abdomen – his t-shirt now a bloodied rag. On his shoulder he had a perfectly circular bite, where thousands of pointy teeth had carved deep into his flesh.

Derek immediately pushed Liam’s bone back into place, and began to absorb pain away the moment he was in contact with his skin, but he was hurting so much himself that he could hardly make Liam feel any better.

“Liam, it bit you!” Ethan pointed out.

“Jeez, tell me something I didn’t know!”

“How did you know it was gone?” Jackson asked as he searched for his phone, which he had dropped just before the fight.

“I… erm… I think I opened my eyes?”

The three older werewolves froze and looked at their packmate.

“ _Liam_ …” was Ethan’s only exasperated moan.

“I got it, I know—“

“It was the only, like, _rule_ we had!”

“It’s more difficult than you think!” Liam snapped as he sat up, but his head began to spin and he fell back on the ground. “Also, I think it looked at me in a funny way…”

“Well… Scott is going to _love_ this,” Jackson huffed.

But before anyone could remark on Jackson’s sarcasm, they heard a familiar voice calling for them.

“Derek? Ethan? Are you okay?”

***

“Jackson, listen. Don’t look at its eyes, you hear me?” Scott shouted into his phone. “Don’t open your eyes! Don’t let it see you!”

“Scott?” Lydia looked at the alpha, who slowly put his phone away. “Scott, what happened?”

“He’s gone… But I heard something,” Scott stood still for a few seconds as he processed the information and searched through their pack bonds, only to find out that half of his betas were in distress. “We’ve gotta go. Come on, babe.”

Isaac nodded without hesitation and dashed for the door.

“Whoa, whoa; you two, wait!” Stiles called for them before they left, waving his arms wildly. “Are you going to- to- to leave us in a room _full_ of corners with a woman that is being chased by that Tindalos hound? That thing travels through time _and_ space! It could turn up right _here_ while you two are gone. What are we doing then?”

“Call Chris,” Scott said from the door. “Tell him what’s happening.”

“Wait!” Stiles insisted. “Please! Not that I don’t trust Chris, but I’d feel safer I you two stayed here,” he added, looking suspiciously at the corners of the room and to the angles of the windowsills and the door frames. There were corners everywhere.

Isaac stopped, and waited for Scott to decide.

“Try ringing them again,” Lydia suggested.

“If they’re being attacked, then they are going to need help now,” Scott replied with emphasis, losing his patience.

“Chris can go and help them, maybe? And Jordan and Malia are in the preserve anyways,” Isaac suddenly remembered. “They’ll be four werewolves plus help against one hound. How more unbalanced could that be?” he added with a confident smirk.

“Even six or seven to one, I don’t like these odds,” Deaton expressed with concern. “I don’t know why Isaac was able to scare it away, but if what I’ve been reading is true, then these hounds are way more powerful than anything from our dimension.”

“How does a Hound of Tindalos compare to a mi-go?” Isaac asked with an arched eyebrow. Deaton gave him a blank expression, and Stiles huffed and bit his knuckles.

“Scott, ring Jordan. Ring him _now_ ,” Lydia ordered and the alpha obeyed. Isaac took this chance to ring Chris and tell him to go to the preserve.

“Okay, they’re on their way,” Scott announced when he hung up after a few minutes. “But what are we going to do about this thing then?”

“Chris is in the armoury, so he isn’t that far either. He does not know what a Tindalos hound is, so he is taking as much gun power as he can, hoping something can wound it,” Isaac added once he finished his own call.

“Demetria knows how to,” Lydia said from the window. Everyone turned to look at her, including Demetria, who heard her name being mentioned. “That’s why she needs a druid and a nemeton.”

Demetria heard both ‘druid’ and ‘nemeton’, and turned around to Deaton, grabbing his shirt and quickly blurting a torrent of Latin and Greek. Deaton nodded and put his hand up before asking her to explain it all over again and slowly, for everyone to understand.

“ _Sodales mei!_ ” Demetria stopped to look at Lydia and then at Scott. “ _Patroni, vos quaeso, redimite sodales meos ex caverna! Adsunt iam in rupibus me expectantes!_ ”

“What does she want about a cavern?” Scott asked, conscious that she had addressed him.

“And what about her way to defeat the hound?” Stiles insisted, not letting go of the main point of their discussion.

“She is begging you to go and find her companions,” Deaton translated. “They are in the cave waiting for her.”

“Ask her what cave,” Scott told Deaton. “There are dozens of caves around here. The quarry in the preserve is riddled with them.”

“It’s a cave beyond the hill, past the tower, through the forest,” Deaton translated Demetria’s hurried explanation. “Towards the northwest?”

At that instant, the door opened, and Scott, Isaac and Stiles turned in unison, supressing surprised gasps. The Sheriff walked in and closed the door behind him to three sighs of relief.

“Is it that bad, then? Just saying because you three,” he pointed at the boys, “are so tense that you just jumped a foot in the air, and your eyes are flashing yellow.”

Isaac shook his head with his eyes shut.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Stiles huffed, mostly out of embarrassment for being frightened so easily.

“Because Melissa and Parrish have been keeping me updated, as opposed to my own son and this damned pack’s alpha” the Sheriff hissed. Both Scott and Stiles had the decency to look chastised. “Didn’t you think that keeping me in the loop of supernatural activities might have been a wise thing to do?”

“This is not the moment, okay, dad?” Stiles argued, summoning courage. “We need to think of a cave towards the northwest, passing by a tower. And we need to find it asap!”

“A cave where we will find six legendary sleepers,” Scott added helpfully.

“Yeah, and we have to go there somehow soon-ish, but we can’t leave this room unprotected. And everyone who is not here right now is in the preserve, _probably_ fighting a creature. So, dad, we need you to stay here—no, wait. Mason! Mason can go to the cave and—“

“Stiles…”

“What _?_ God, I’m trying to think—Lyds, call Mason—think of the cave. Find the cave. Cave… Someone find me a map!”

“Oh, _that_ old cave. I know where it is,” Noah said with a smug smile.

“Dad, this is not the moment to joke! Parrish has already—”

“I am _not_ joking. Listen you all,” he interrupted lowering his voice. “We’ve already had two ‘animal attacks’ in one morning. Parrish explained that this is a creature sucking people’s insides out, and you want to go hiking?”

“Sheriff, I think that Demetria’s companions are in said cave, and we will need to find them, unless you want six other casualties by animal attack,” clarified Deaton.

“So _you_ know about this cave?” Stiles doubted. Scott said nothing, but he could see Lydia shaking her head and biting her lip.

“Yes, it happens to be that I _do_ know about this cave, son. In case you’ve forgotten, _I’m_ the Sheriff of Beacon County, and _I’ve_ lived all my life here. So yeah, one of the things a Sheriff has to know is about listed and protected sites, including the Cave of the Seven Sleepers, which is part of the Old Mission,” Stiles slowly deflated as his father laid down the facts for him. “And in my youth I might have gone hiking and camping and…” a cheeky grin began to form on the Sheriff’s face, but he wiped it soon enough. “Camping. So yes, I have been to one of the few historical monuments in this county. Thank you very much.”

Isaac stifled a laugh while Scott patted his friend’s shoulder.

“Now, tell me, why do we need to go to this cave?” the Sheriff asked once his son admitted defeat with a silent scowl.

“Sheriff, there are six other sleepers there. They are being hunted by a creature from another dimension—“ Lydia explained.

“A Hound of Tindalos,” Stiles chipped in, although not meeting his old man’s gaze.

“—so we need to find them and bring them over so we can carry out the ritual to defeat the Hound.”

The Sheriff looked around the room in silence for a few seconds, pondering his options, before reaching for the radio on his shoulder.

“Parrish and Malia might be fighting the creature right now,” Scott, who guessed the Sheriff’s thought, exclaimed before he could press the button. The Sheriff’s eyes went cold and dark for a second before sighing in resignation.

“So you want to send Mason on his own to that cave?”

The room fell silent again as two werewolves and two Stilinskis put their brains to work. Demetria took this moment of silence to tell Deaton and Lydia what Aurelius’ plan originally was, why they needed a druid, and why it had to be at the Beacon Hills nemeton. Eventually they reached the conclusion that the Sheriff would go with Mason to the cave, although they would go through the preserve first to check on the other werewolves.

“Dad, just remember to watch out for corners. And don’t look into its eyes if you see it,” Stiles repeated before his father left.

“You’ve told me repeatedly—what you haven’t told me yet is how to keep that thing away from town.”

“I think the key is the—“ Scott began to say, but was quickly interrupted by his boyfriend.

“We will tell you when we know,” Isaac added with a not completely sarcastic smile.

“We will know more when we get all the sleepers together,” Lydia said, rather more helpfully.

Noah stood by the door for a couple of seconds, looking at the people in the room. It had been five years since he had been shown the chessboard that explained what Beacon Hills was really all about. During those five years, he had seen too many things he thought he would never have to see. And yet, three of the people in that room had always been there to make sure that, against all odds, it never came to the worst. There was something about Scott, he had always believed, that pushed people around him to do their best and to care about each other. _Even those thousands of miles away_ , he thought when he looked at Isaac. Who would have thought that the asthmatic little kid that followed Stiles everywhere since they were not taller than a table would become their local inspiring hero?

“Please, Lydia, make sure you keep me in the loop?”

The redhead nodded while her boyfriend protested, but the Sheriff was already gone. Deaton asked a quick question to Demetria, who visibly assented, and the veterinarian stood up.

“So, about this ritual.”

Deaton explained what Demetria had told him, which Lydia had half-understood but the boys were still in the dark. The sleepers had brought with them a book of the dangerous kind – one of those books that contained too many revelations about the true nature of the universe for most people’s comfort. This book, the _Book of Eibon_ , had taught them how to travel back in time, and it also explained how a Hound could be vanished forever by means of performing some chanting rituals led by the druid, at a node of telluric power, in conjunction with the Wolf Star.

“So… let me see if I’ve understood this properly, Doc,” Isaac asked in the tone he used to lay down evident but hard to swallow truths. “We need to go to the nemeton at night to draw pentagrams around the tree while chanting _in Latin_ to open some sort of portal through which to push the Hound away? While you act as high druidic MC. Is that what you’ve just said? Because that sounds to me _exactly_ like the cult summoning some of us saw _twice_ last summer.”

“Even if the technicalities are still unclear to me so far, I think that you got it, Isaac,” Deaton replied with a smile, not one to be intimidated by Isaac’s sass. “Although there is more.”

“ _Ohmy—_ you must be joking now,” Stiles huffed. Scott simply looked worried at his boyfriend, who was far more unsettled than his sarcastic façade let out. Scott could sense it through their pack bond, so he nuzzled and nudged him for a split of a second.

“ _Necesse erit nobis auxilium flavii_ ,” Demetria said, as if on cue, and looking from Lydia to Isaac.

“Huh… Say that again?” Isaac looked at Lydia in confusion.

“She says that they will need your help, _blondie_ ,” Lydia translated with a smirk. “Her words,” she added just in case.

Demetria then began to speak, explaining whatever she was saying to Deaton and Lydia, but always keeping an eye on an increasingly terrified Isaac. Scott searched for his boyfriend’s hand and squeezed it.

“Okay, so… they also need the blond… sleeper? Something like that –which is _you_ , Isaac. You need to be ready for the _stella lupina_ … the wolfish star? And- and- yeah, and… _Terris Somniorum_?” Lydia looked at Demetria for confirmation, and the injured woman nodded. “Something in the lands of dreams?”

The moment they heard those words, Isaac and Stiles went pale as sheets. Stiles’ eyes opened wide and his mouth began to open and close without articulating any real words. Isaac, however, let go of Scott’s hand and slowly backed towards the wall as a deep and cold pit formed in his stomach. Lydia and Scott immediately noticed their reaction.

“I think this is the point when you tell us, Isaac,” Scott prompted his boyfriend with care, but his tone clearly said that there was no more delaying the inevitable.

Isaac swallowed hard and passed his hand through his curls wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

 _It’s stupid, Isaac. You_ can _tell them. They’re your pack! Just wolf the fuck up!_ He took a deep breath with his eyes closed to steady himself, and a phone rang.

***

“Derek? Ethan? Are you okay?” Chris called as he approached the four werewolves. He could see they were all injured, but he had his gun ready, waiting for any hidden or unseen enemy.

“Mr Argent!” Liam waved. Jackson rolled his eyes.

“What happened?” the hunter asked when he finally reached them.

“We will be in a bit,” Derek admitted through gritted teeth. Their wounds were only slowly healing – especially the frostbite in their fingers, which they felt going deep to their bones. “That thing… I’ve never seen anything like it. It came out of a corner and came for us.”

“Makes me miss the mushroom-headed lobsters from last summer,” Jackson joked. Ethan elbowed him in the already bruised ribs, so he had to bend over and sit down for a second.

“Chris!” The five of them turned around to see Parrish and Malia rushing towards them. “What a happy coincidence.”

“Where _were_ all of you three minutes ago?” Jackson moaned from the floor.

“We were at the quarry, where we found a body with a—oh _God_. Liam, it bit you!” Malia shouted and pointed when she saw the circular wound on Liam’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re okay. It didn’t suck your guts out?”

“It does _what_?” Liam blurted in horror. He knew that thing had bitten him and that it had hurt like hell, but he appreciated his guts being where they should be: inside him and not a space dog.

“That thing is tough, but I think we scared it away,” Ethan suggested. “I mean, we clawed it dozens of times, so it must have given up.”

“Even if we had to do it with our eyes shut,” Jackson boasted from the ground. “Until dummy here opened them.”

“But it did not bite any of you?” Chris asked, thinking about it carefully. “It only bit Liam.”

“Yeah… after I opened my eyes.”

“And then it… _fled_. Just like that?”

“I guess so?” Liam answered what now felt like a hunter interrogation.

“Someone better ring Scott and let them know we’re all okay. And for your information, I don’t think you scared it,” Chris turned around, looking suspiciously to their surroundings. “I don’t think anything here could scare it. I think it just marked Liam and decided you lot were too much of a hassle.”

“Isaac did it,” Ethan said with confidence. “Isaac clawed it away this morning.”

“Wait—that thing is going to come back for me?” Liam interrupted. Nobody had a real answer. “Great… as if I hadn’t got enough already.”

“Did you see where it went to?” Parrish then asked, but there was no answer for that question either.

After an uncomfortable silence, Malia decided to analyse the situation. “What do _we_ know then?”

They spent a few more minutes exchanging information, piecing their snippets together, from the moment Malia drove Isaac and the ancient Greek woman to the hospital, to the fight against the Hound and the corpse that had been found up in the quarry. The only conclusions they could reach were that the creature was tough as nails, that it came out of corners, and that it sucked life out of its victims – and none of this was new.

***

“Chris?” Scott answered his phone.

“Scott, we’re all here in the preserve,” Argent informed. “Your betas are all in bad shape, but they are healing. This hound of yours has gone.”

“Gone where?” Scott asked after putting the phone on speaker.

“Just walked into a corner and vanished,” Liam shouted from somewhere.

“It could be going anywhere,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and toying with the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It could be coming here, or to the cave. We need to move.”

“We need to move this woman to a safer place,” Scott spoke to the phone, but all the pack was listening. “The Sheriff should be on his way now with Mason. Wait for him and we’ll let you know where to go.”

“Tell them to think of a place with round walls,” Stiles said aloud.

Chris replied that they had heard and that they would be waiting for the Sheriff, and then hung up. In the room the tension now could be cut with a knife. They needed to find somewhere round, and big, and secluded. And there was still a big fat explanation that had been interrupted by the phone call.

“Isaac,” Deaton was the one to put the werewolf in the spotlight. “Could you please explain what this connection to the Dreamlands is?”

Isaac gulped and looked at Stiles, who had stopped his fidgeting. Isaac was not going to throw him under the bus, but he was not going to let his friend leave this room without giving his two cents. Also, the way in which Deaton spoke about the Dreamlands made Isaac think that the druid, yet again, knew more than he ever let them see.

“Yes… well…” Isaac bit his lip and without thinking began to scratch his elbow. He looked at Scott and Stiles. Then he looked at Lydia. Isaac sighed. “The dreams began last month, a few weeks before my final exam, although it seems that the story _really_ goes back a few more years, when my mum was still alive and Cam took me out to one of the hills of the preserve.”

Once he started, Isaac could not stop. He explained everything. He began with the night he saw the Wolf Star for the first time with his brother, and how years later, during their fight at the nemeton last summer, Nyarlathotep had told him about his unfulfilled destiny and about how he was a dream walker. Stiles already knew about this, but for Lydia and Scott all this was new. Both clearly wanted more details, but Isaac was blurting everything in one rushed go. He linked this revelation to how his family of werewolves had always been connected to Nyarlathotep and his plans, all the way since the Middle Ages, although Scott and Lydia already knew half of that. He then moved on to the dreams, what happened in them, about the Black Gates and the bronze keys. He explained about Stiles, and Liam, and their shared dream loop, keeping his eyes fixed on his friend when he talked about that part. He concluded with how his brother’s voice kept calling him from beyond the black gates, and how their shared dreamed space was collapsing right at this moment, but that crossing the gate following this voice sounded to him like a very bad idea.

When he finished his story, he looked down at his feet, feeling the drilling stares of Lydia and Scott, who clearly wanted to know more. Before anyone could throw any questions, Stiles felt the need to add into this story.

He explained that ever since the nogitsune he had had similar vivid dreams, and how he discovered the dream loop and how they ended up in the Dreamlands that one night. Scott looked at his friend in disbelief: he had known –he had been involved—and he had not said anything either? Stiles averted the alpha’s gaze and focused on the still-judging but more understanding eyes of Lydia while he mentioned the tavern where Demetria said she had seen them, even if he did not remember her. As opposed to Isaac, Stiles believed that they needed to go into the Dreamlands, because Nyarlathotep had no power there – it was a dominion of the Gods of Earth where the Outer Gods were banned. This was the sole reason why he thought that if Camden was calling for Isaac, it must be for a good reason. After all, he added, Brett was also dead and he had helped Liam look for Isaac in one of their dreams.

This explanation was succeeded by a less coherent rant about how the Hound might be connected to the dreams, or why the sleepers would need their help in particular, but Stiles admitted he was thinking as he went. This left many unanswered questions for Scott, Deaton and Lydia, and simply highlighted the magnitude of the scenario in which they now found themselves, hoping that it was not too late an hour.

After these revelations, Isaac felt weak in the knees and light headed. He could feel Scott’s eyes fixed on him, but he refused to look up.

“Why have you kept all this quiet?” Scott eventually asked. Isaac sensed that his boyfriend was biting back his anger. He had actually felt how he had taken a deep breath, and how Scott’s inner wolf was being pushed back. But the tone also told Isaac that Scott was hurt. All this was probably far more than what Scott had expected – even earlier that morning, when they had a chat outside the hospital.

“Scott?” Lydia said before Isaac could reply. “Why don’t you go and find your mom? If that Hound is loose we will need to take Demetria out of here. Perhaps you can take Isaac,” she suggested, giving them an unnecessary excuse to get some privacy. “We need to find a safe place where to hide, and Stiles has got to think about how dreams connect with time travelling hunter demons.”

Scott put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder, and the beta nodded without being asked. Taking his boyfriend’s hand, the alpha took them outside the room. They walked down the corridor and Scott took them to one of the empty rooms, where he purposefully sat Isaac down on the bed so he could sit by his side.

“I know you’re sorry, babe. You’ve told me already,” Scott spoke first, their hands still laced together. Scott knew already that Isaac had kept something hidden from him, and he had been patient, but now he had found out about the ramifications. It had been not only Isaac, it had been Liam and Stiles also keeping something which now was proving more than important. Something that was going to be crucial. All the times Isaac had said he trusted Scott now felt a little emptier.

“I _am_ sorry,” the beta mumbled.

Scott bit his lip and smiled despite himself, because he knew it was true. After a long year (and a dozen of late night phone calls to Lydia and Jackson) he knew how his boyfriend’s head worked, and after bursting out all the things he had repressed and hidden he was going to feel empty and vulnerable. And although Isaac would still struggle to put his feelings into words, at least now Scott would not have to pull them out.

“It’s going to sound stupid, and please don’t interrupt me—“ Isaac warned, rubbing his thumb on the back of Scott’s hand. “But I was afraid that if… if these dreams were something more than just dreams, then this was going to be the end of this chapter.”

“What chapter?”

“Your chapter. _Our_ chapter. My chapter back in Beacon Hills… If these dreams are real then it means that we are going to have a supernatural crisis, and I can’t just start again from scratch after this one. _If_ we get through this one. Not after all that I’ve got now.”

“Babe, I’m trying to understand, honest, but I can’t see why would what we have end because of the dreams. Do you think you need to end it?”

“No!” Isaac looked slightly terrified at Scott for even suggesting that. “Of course not. It’s just… In _my_ experience good things don’t last. And I don’t think I could go back to France to start all over again after this.”

“Isaac, you’re not going anywhere you don’t want to!” Scott said as he squeezed their hands. “And we’re in this together? All of us, right?”

Isaac nodded, his head still down. Scott for a second considered the speck of resentment and pain he felt because of Isaac’s emotional constipation, but something inside with his mother’s voice told him to let go of it. His boyfriend’s remorse, even if tardy, was all that mattered after all. So he threw his arms around him and brought him into a tight hug, softly kissing his cheeks and his curls. He nuzzled his nose into his hair and let his inner wolf reach into Isaac, strengthening their bond in a way that Isaac could swear glowed bright and golden.

“You’re an idiot,” Scott said without letting go. He planted a loud kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek before continuing. “You’re _such_ an idiot. An absolute idiot. Oh my _God_.”

Isaac chuckled and tried to push Scott away, but his alpha tightened his grip.

“That’s not a nice thing to say to your boyfriend,” Isaac managed to smile, thanks to the magic of Scott’s unnecessary constricting cuddle.

“An _absolute_ idiot” Scott insisted. “Thank God you're _my_ idiot, because otherwise I don't know what I'd do about you. I won’t say you need to improve your communication skills, because I do have a soft spot for your sass with sarcasm combo, but please: that emotional constipation of yours is going to be the death of me.”

The beta chuckled again and sniffed, resting his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder and letting him sooth him. Scott shook his head.

“What if it is too late?” Isaac had to ask as he reassessed the consequences of his actions.

“We somehow always manage, even at the last minute.”

“How do you know?” a slight panic lacing Isaac’s voice.

“Because, to quote a wise old man, ‘we’ve got a True Alpha, who has a pack. And he has this amazing beta who was _there_. When it all began. Three thousand years ago’,” Scott recited back with a grin as he remembered the previous summer, when it had been him the one who had seen it dark ahead.

“Wow,” Isaac snorted. “Whoever said that must have been very wise, although I’m not sure about old.”

“Four months older,” Scott replied, patting Isaac’s knee. “ _Four_ entire months older. Positively ancient.”

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“And that’s why you love me,” Scott grinned before kissing Isaac on the lips. Isaac kissed him back, grabbing his shirt and pulling him towards him. Scott cupped Isaac’s face for one last smooch before pushing him away. “Come on, we said we’d go looking for mom.”

***

Melissa argued that Demetria was still not healed, and that she needed a doctor’s signature to let her go anyways. Thankfully, Dr Geyer was also on the chessboard, so within a few minutes Scott, Isaac, Deaton and Demetria followed Stiles and Lydia’s car to the one safe spot he had thought of. Although Demetria voiced some concerns about being inside a car, she was so high on morphine for her pain that the trip flew by.

“Dude, you brought us to the school,” Isaac said without leaving the car, pointing at the ‘Beacon Hills High School’ sign. “There are hundreds of sharp corners in and around that building. Plus, someone might see us.”

“We’re not coming to the _school_ we’re going to the lacrosse pitch,” Stiles explained.

“Right, because that makes so much of a difference.”

“Stop it, Isaac,” Lydia ordered. “This is just until we think of somewhere which is big. And round…” She obviously was not happy with their current surroundings, but was willing to give her boyfriend some more time to think.

“Isaac’s right,” Scott said once the two werewolves were out of the car. “Someone might be around?”

“Nobody’s going to be here. And I called my mom to make sure,” Lydia told as they walked towards the pitches, the werewolves looking suspiciously over their shoulders every now and then. “It’s a Sunday in July…” she added as if that needed any more explanation.

Isaac bit his tongue rather than saying that he had been the kind of kid who even on Sundays in July preferred to be in or around school rather than home.

“Here,” Stiles declared with finality once they were standing in the middle of the pitch, far away from any corner and sat with Demetria on the yellowing grass. “Ring the others, please?” he asked Scott as he pulled his phone out to look through various maps of Beacon Hills for circular empty spaces.

Isaac got his phone out before Scott did, and he rang Liam.

“Yo, Liam, how’s your bite?” Isaac asked. Chris had called them earlier to tell them quickly about the fight and that they were all mostly okay, but they had been waiting for Stiles to choose a safe area so they were still in the preserve.

“Stings, but doing okay,” the other beta admitted. “Where are you then?”

“We’re at school for the time being. We can’t think of a place without corners where we can hide them…”

“I blame furniture,” was Liam’s reply. Isaac blinked a couple of times as he digested the answer, and because he had been quiet for two seconds Liam felt he better explain himself. “It’s because furniture has corners. Normally, I mean. You can have round sofas, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah, Liam. I see what you mean. Oh, erm… and… I might have told Scott about the dreams,” he confessed as he turned away from the rest. “The woman here said something directly about the Dreamlands and I erm…well. I _had_ to.”

“Oh, I see… This thing with the Hound and the dreams… Is there a connection?” Liam asked nervously.

“We don’t know for certain.”

“Right, right, right… Because I might have looked into its eyes…”

“ _You what_?”

“It was an accident, don’t you start as well!” Liam begged. “I’ve already had that over here.”

“ _Liam_!” Isaac said loud enough that Scott and Stiles turned to look. “It was the one rule we had – keep your eyes _closed_!” On the corner of his eye, Isaac saw his boyfriend and his best friend simultaneously face palming.

“It’s more difficult than what you think! Ask Scott about the Anuk-ite! I was not ready to claw my eyes out. Besides… _you_ are working on this. And so is Stiles and Lydia. I’ll be alright, won’t I?”

***

Bobby Finstock was walking down the corridors of the school in flip-flops, listening to his ‘Best of 96’ CD, an ice-lolly in one hand and his discman carefully balanced on the pile of notebooks he held on the other. A Sunday in July was, in Coach’s experience, the best moment to be in school to plan the upcoming year. He skipped _Wannabe_ for the fourth time that morning when his CD stopped. Coach cursed. Thankfully, he was already in the break room.

Finstock headed for the coffee machine and put four heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his mug. He was mumbling something or other when out of the window he saw the youngest of the Lahey boys together with McCall, Bilinski, and Natalie’s daughter. They also had the vet with them. But it was when he saw the woman sat on the dry grass of the lacrosse pitch that he knew that the time had come.

With a grunt, Finstock emptied his fresh cup of sugary coffee down the drain. That night he needed to be completely and soundly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scott has feelings too, and its not just Isaac who feels bad, but they have very different coping mechanisms, I think.
> 
> Any thoughts or comments so far?


	19. The belly of the whale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Last summer we… erm… you might remember that we encountered an Outer God,” Isaac clenched his fist to stop his hand from trembling and forced himself not to say the name out loud. “He, erm… well… back then he told me something that has only become relevant and meaningful now."
> 
> OR: The pack as a meeting to discuss what is going on.

“That’s the cave?” Mason asked looking out of the Sheriff’s car. He had been picked up earlier by the Sheriff after being awoken by a barrage of text messages and phone calls about the latest supernatural crisis.

“It’s up that path,” Noah answered as he got out.

“I’ve never been here before,” Malia admitted. After making sure that Liam and Derek were healing properly and that the Hound had actually vanished from the Ranger’s Office, the Sheriff asked Malia to go with him in her car to find the six missing sleepers while Chris and Parrish plus the werewolves went to Stiles’ secret and safe meeting space. “I mean, I knew it was here because it was part of the exam, but I’ve never visited the site.”

“It’s not a main tourist attraction, true,” the Sheriff admitted as the three began to walk up the sun-baked and dusty slope to the cave mouth. “But we have occasional hikers doing the Missions Trail. Some come all the way from San Diego, but most people just stop down there at Saint Ignatius,” he turned around and pointed at the valley below.

“And how come we never knew anything about a supernatural hotspot like this?” Malia asked again.

“This was here before Beacon Hills was founded. Before the Hales arrived,” Mason immediately answered with what he had pieced together from snippets on the internet and his own deductions. “Even if this site is linked to stories of time travelling, the Hales and the Argents seem to have limited their understanding of the supernatural to shapeshifters…”

“What about Deaton?” Malia argued. “I’ve always thought he was suspicious, when not unhelpful, but failing to highlight this as a hotspot right now cannot be coincidental.”

“I guess archaeological sites are not your usual supernatural hub?”

“Well,” Noah added. “Now we know better.”

They walked up to the cave entrance and were not surprised to see that it was empty. The Sheriff began to think if they needed some fencing or a guard to keep an eye on these sites which were just open. That of course reminded him of the conversation he had with Isaac and Scott a few weeks before, but it all went out of his mind when they entered the cave. Thankfully, it was not completely dark, and Noah silently thanked the county council for installing those programmed lights when they put up the information panels.

“Sheriff,” Malia brought him back to reality. “I can hear people at the far end of the cave.”

“So they’re still here?” Mason asked, not concealing his enthusiasm.

“Hello?” Noah called as he descended into the cave. “This is the Sheriff. Anybody there?”

“They’ve gone quiet,” Malia said in a low voice after a pause. “But they’re still there – I can hear six heart beats, but one is weak.”

“I’m coming down,” the Sheriff announced as he walked towards the cave bottom.

The main hall of the cave had changed a lot since he had last visited, with more panels, railings, and steps (and lights), but the old plaster decorations with crosses and painted symbols were still there. He remembered being told that the monks from the mission had built it as a secluded praying space. Clearly not.

“Hello?” Mason called once he was by Noah’s side. “You can come out.”

“Sheriff? They’re there,” Malia pointed. “They are hiding in that small tunnel that goes beyond the lit area.

Sheriff Stilinski nodded and carefully approached the tunnel that his deputy had identified.

“We know you’re there,” he said with a calm and low voice. “Your friend is with us. We need you to come with us, please.”

There was a low murmur of voices and then one person walked out into the light. He was a man with a cauliflower ear, a broken nose, and black curly hair, wearing what Noah could only describe as a tunic. The man said something but the Sheriff did not understand.

“Mason, can you come here?” he called, keeping eye contact with the man, and his appeasing hands still up.

“ _Ubi est Demetria_?” the man asked. The Sheriff could not answer.

“Mason, can you speak with them?”

“Me?” the young man gasped. “I- I- erm… no. I can’t speak Latin or whatever they’re speaking.”

Noah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, okay. Please, sir, you all can come out,” he said slowly and gesticulating.

“ _Ubi est Demetria?_ ” the man insisted, getting angrier.

“Hang on, boss. I can solve this,” Malia said with unexpected confidence while she stepped forward and pulled out her phone. She looked for some app that the Sheriff could not see and then spoke into her cell. “We are from Beacon Hills Sheriff department. We came to take you out of this cave. Your friend is with us. We are trying to help.” She clicked a button and an automatic translation came out.

“ _Beacon sumus a Hills Vicecomiti department. Factum est autem nobis accipere ab his antrum Amicum tuum nobiscum. Nos es trying ut auxilium_.”

“Malia did you just—?”

“Hush, look.”

Behind the man four other heads appeared, all wearing the same confused expression of someone who has only half understood something. Malia pressed the button again and the message was repeated.

“Malia, that thing said ‘trying’ and ‘department’. I’m sure that’s not Latin,” the Sheriff said.

“Maybe not, but I think they must have got the gist of it,” the deputy replied with a grin. She decided for another translation.

“ _Amicum tuum nobiscum. Et factum adorti et draconi qui est et opus est illi adiutorio_.”

Mason and the Sheriff remained quiet, while the sleepers looked even more perplexed. They whispered amongst each other for a few moments until a woman tentatively walked forward and asked a question.

“ _Mechanicum hoc tuum adlocutum nobis est?_ ”

“SPEAK INTO THE _PHONE_ ,” Malia said slowly and deliberately loud, holding her phone out so the woman could speak into it and pointed with her fingers from her mouth to the phone. Mason and the Sheriff stood in surprised awe at the exchange, hardly believing what their eyes were seeing. Surprisingly, the woman seemed to get the idea and said something.

“Indeed, this is why you are here, we auxiliandi,” came the translation after a while. “Is our love you dear.”

The woman was thrilled with excitement when she heard her voice translated into English, and began speaking again.

“This adds an entire new dimension to ‘lost in translation’,” Mason said.

“We are in flight from the dog Tindall, but we need to find a skilled groves. Demetria went cave in the woods,” was the next broken translation.

For the next few minutes they tried and tried again to understand what each side tried to communicate, but there was a limit to automatic translations and everyone’s patience, which is why Noah brought his own phone out and made a call.

“Lydia?”

“Sheriff?” came the reply.

“We need you to translate for us… God knows we’ve tried,” he added mostly to himself.

“Translate what?” the banshee’s tone had a worried edge.

“We have six Latin-speaking people. You’re now on loudspeaker.”

“ _Ohmygod_ —What?”

“Yeah, you don’t want to know how we’ve been dealing before.”

“I thought Mason knew Latin?” Lydia sounded disappointed and disapproving.

“Hey!”

“Alright, alright, never mind... What do you need me to tell them?”

***

Jackson crossed the metallic threshold and walked into the large cylindrical space. It was very tall, badly lit, and _very_ empty, so the noise of his footsteps echoed all over the dusty place. Inside he could see, in between the piles of grey and hardened cement dust, Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Isaac standing together with what he could only guess was the Greek woman. They were huddled together in the centre of the structure, illuminated by a gaping hole in the metallic wall of the silo, and their low murmur was magnified by the cavernous walls into a confused reverberation.

The greetings Jackson, Ethan, Liam and Derek received soon turned into concerned checkouts when their packmates noticed their tattered and bloodied clothes. Scott showed his usual concern for his betas, and Lydia was more than shocked to see them in such a state, because even if Derek had already told Scott about their earlier encounter with the Hound, the alpha and the members of the pack that were with him had not imagined that their friends would have been mauled so badly. Isaac felt particularly bad, because even if he knew that the Hound was not coming for _him_ , he could not help thinking that all of this was _partly_ his fault. Ethan saw his friend’s scrunched face and immediately knew what Isaac was thinking, so he told him not to worry with a reassuring wink and a shoulder squeeze.

Whilst Lydia introduced them to Demetria, Jackson walked to Stiles with a question.

“How on _Earth_ did you come up with this place, Stiles?”

“Oh, I have been here before,” he explained with a shoulder shrug. “It was quite an obvious choice, once I remembered it…”

“Do I even want to know the bizarre and hopefully nonsexual reason _why_ you have been in the silo of an abandoned cement plant?” Isaac asked from behind Stiles, making Ethan chuckle.

“It was last summer, when dad and I drove to New Dorch to pick up Mason,” Stiles explained with annoyance. “Nothing funny happened. I just watched it through my dad’s binoculars.”

“Of _course_ you did,” Isaac grinned but Scott quickly looked at him once with a cocked head and begging eyes, clearly pleading him not to start whatever he was thinking.

“It’s a huge cylindrical silo, and it’s empty,” Stiles ignored the beta. “It is the only space that was big enough for all of us to fit and with the fewest number of corners. I mean, I wish I _had_ , but I couldn’t find a completely spherical room for all of this massive pack to hide in such a rush. Still, I think that with enough gaffer tape and plaster we could cover up the angles—“

“It’s a creepy abandoned cement plant,” Jackson insisted, interrupting Sties before he could go on with his plan to smooth the surface of the silo to a perfect curve.

“Did you miss the part when I told you that it has huge, empty cylindrical silos?”

“Yeah, because _that’s_ of course the healthiest place to hide from an interdimensional monster,” Jackson jabbed with a smirk.

“Shut up, Jackson,” Stiles moaned. “Everything was easier when you were just a normal douche, not a supernatural one.”

“We haven’t got time for that, you two,” Lydia snapped.

Stiles was about to argue when Demetria let out a nervous gasp, causing him to jump out of his skin. When he looked behind him he saw that his father, Malia and Mason (and not a Tindalos Hound) had just walked in with six sleepers, one of them apparently badly injured.

“Deaton, could you please have a look at him,” Noah called as he laid the young man as comfortably as he could on the bare floor of the cement silo. “He has a bite.”

“So there are three marked targets now,” the veterinarian said to no one in particular, thinking of Demetria and Liam.

During the next few minutes, Demetria had an emotional reencounter with her time travelling companions, and took the chance to explain briefly to them her side of the story, from the moment she left the cave to her encounter with Isaac and the hound and the events while she was in the hospital.

“Are we all here then?” Scott asked formally just to begin the meeting– he knew everyone was there already. He quickly surveyed the circle of people standing in the empty silo. Isaac was the first on his left, and next to him were Jackson and Ethan, then Liam, Mason, Derek, Stiles, Lydia, Deaton, Demetria with her six companions, Malia, Parrish, the Sheriff and last, to his right, Chris Argent. Only his mother and Natalie were missing (one because of work, the other because she had always been very clear about her lack of interest in supernatural business). Peter technically was also not there, but he was not missed. “Okay, well, I guess you all know bits and pieces, but the Hound that attacked Demetria and her friends and that attacked Isaac and the rest of you is still around and it seems is not going to go away any time soon.”

“Also, because it is an extradimensional being, which is already a maddening concept, it basically can materialise out of any corner, which is why we are here in this silo,” Stiles added.

“In sum, we’re in a hurry to get rid of it.”

“Yes,” Parrish spoke. “We’ve seen what that thing does to people, and it’s not nice.”

“It’s a welcome change, though,” Isaac commented casually. “At least this is a straight-forward, single-minded monster and not someone with an astute clever plan that we have to outsmart.”

Deaton, who had been translating off the cuff the conversation for Demetria and her friends’ benefit, left that comment out.

“Our current predicament is not that neatly defined,” Deaton cautioned. “So let me first do the introductions which, as a druid, I am normally required to do.”

The druid turned to face the sleepers and with a reverent bow introduced himself formally as the local druid, but that the guardian of the nemeton was Scott, the alpha of the Beacon Hills pack. As Lydia translated Deaton’s Latin explanations, the pack could see how the time travellers’ faces changed when they learnt that their rescuers and now allies were werewolves. The sleepers seemed undisturbed by this revelation, but Demetria made a comment.

“We can’t be werewolves because of our shins?” Jackson asked on behalf of all the present werewolves when he heard the translation.

“In Greek and Roman antiquity the stories about werewolves, like the myths of Lycaon and Petronius’ werewolf, focused on people who could turn into wolves, whose eyes shone bright red or gold,” Stiles explained, showing off his reading. “But there were other texts that explained that lycanthropes had bruised knees and were always thirsty because they ran with wolves at night in the forests and kept bumping their legs against branches.”

“Those were human members of werewolf packs,” Derek added, not without surprise. “I always knew those were very old tales. Now I see how old.”

“Those are the same texts that mention cures for lycanthropy.”

“Hang on a second. You told me there was no cure!” Scott cried with indignation. Not that he wanted a cure now, but he spent most of high school searching for one.

“You would not like it, Scott, and it does not work,” Deaton confessed. “Bleeding until you faint and then feeding you back to life with pumpkin soup and milk with honey is completely ineffective.”

“Aetius of Amida,” Chris interrupted, recognising the author of that ‘cure’. A few faces turned to look at him. “Those are old hints for early hunters. The Argents might be the oldest hunter family nowadays, but we were not the first.”

“Can we focus on the matter at hand?” Scott insisted.

Deaton introduced the sleepers to the pack, and translated Aurelius’ account of how they got to what they termed ‘the origin of the planet’ and saw the Hound which had been hunting them ever since. When Isaac heard about the times to which these people had travelled and the weird pre-historic creatures they had encountered, it was not surprising that they had not gasped in terror when they were told about werewolves.

Aurelius and Deaton explained together all they knew about the Hound, how it lurks in a dimension outside our observable universe, and how it hunts those who cross through it when time travelling or, failing that, those it sees in our own world. Liam swallowed hard and stammered a few words as he described as vividly as he could what he had _seen_ earlier that day. Those who had not heard this part of the story yet gasped and shifted uncomfortably where they stood. Even if some of them had already fought the creature, the realisation that it was an unstoppable predator from beyond time and space put things into a completely different perspective. Jackson was the most vocal about this, although this was just because he had just realised that he had picked up a literal and metaphorical blind fight. Isaac felt compelled to apologise, not really knowing why, but a number of voices told him that it had nothing to do with him.

At this point Stiles gathered his courage and explained for the first time to all the pack what had been happening to him, Liam, and Isaac during the preceding nights and how they had been invited to enter the Dreamlands which was where their paths had crossed with the sleepers. Isaac and Liam still blushed in embarrassment for having kept this from the pack, but there were no judging glares or reproachful comments. In the eyes of their packmates there was only concern for their safety and determination to stop the Hound. There was, nevertheless, the smell of fear and apprehension, which Isaac found comforting. Fear meant that he was surrounded by sane people; nobody in their right mind would not be afraid in their current circumstances.

“Wait a second everyone,” Noah stopped the growing murmur of the pack and the sleepers making their own assumptions about the nature of dreams. “Well… ‘understand’ is a big word, but I can _accept_ the existence of these Dreamlands. I guess that it’s not that difficult to process after learning about werewolves… But what has this time-travelling hound got to do with our three boys or their adventures in Oz?”

No matter how old they were, or how strong or, in the case of Isaac, how tall: for Sheriff Stilinski the pack would always be his kids.

“Pops, this is just off the top of my head, and only because they just explained how they travel through time, although Deaton, I’m sure you must have mistranslated something, because opening rifts through angles doesn’t make sense,” Stiles changed topic without finishing his first answer.

“It’s the same system the Hound uses,” Deaton said with calm. “It seems impossible to understand, but simply because it’s outside what we can conceive does not mean that it does not work.”

“Well,” Stiles got back on track. “If _they_ have travelled through the Dreamlands, they might be leading the Hound there. Or the Hound might follow us from there in our sleep? I don’t understand, but that is what my headache tells me.”

“Is the plan to trap the Hound in the Dreamlands?” Parrish suggested, underlining the fact that an extradimensional horror was at large in Beacon Hills popping out of corners searching for time travellers and sucking the life out of everything that crossed its path.

“We cannot toss the Ring into the ocean,” Isaac mumbled, as he joined his own dots and began to see what was going to happen.

“What ring?”

“ _The Lord of the Rings_ ,” explained Scott, who was getting used to his boyfriend’s random bursts of Tolkien geekiness. “You cannot throw the Ring into the ocean because lands and seas change, and there are unknown creatures lurking beneath. That would not be a definitive solution.”

“You two are such a couple of nerds sometimes, it’s unbelievable,” Jackson joked.

“Even if we could, confining the Hound to the Land of Dreams does not mean that we are safe. Stiles, Liam, and Isaac might have found a way into the deepest Dreamlands, but we all dream, and the Hound could still find us in our sleep and feed on our sleeping consciousness,” the druid warned.

“If that’s not a literal nightmare, then I don’t know what would be…” Malia commented.

“This is why we need to perform a ritual that will close the angles for the Hound to cross, effectively banishing it back to its own dimension and severing all the ties it has to our particular space-time,” Deaton announced, and his declaration was met with a nervous silence.

“We have to do a ritual in Latin at the nemeton during the night. While chanting,” Isaac snorted, masking his own dread. “It seems that we are the town cultists now,” he added, in case the irony was lost on anyone.

“Wait, a ritual?” the Sheriff sounded alarmed. He had had enough cultic crap last year to last him a lifetime. “I cannot believe you are even considering the option of _sacrificing_ —“

“Mr Stilinski, I believe that this will not be a bloody ritual,” Deaton placated the Sheriff. “And Isaac, I think you’ll find that robes are essential in cults, but not necessary for rituals.”

The druid and the sleepers explained the different stages of the ritual that they would have to do at the nemeton. Lydia and Mason in particular paid attention to the patterns and runes that were described as essential, and asked about the dream catcher that Heraklios kept close to his chest. Meanwhile Isaac searched for Scott’s hand and squeezed it when all the talk about rituals and chanting prompted unwelcome memories of the previous summer to resurface. The explanation itself was short, but the need to translate the various steps just delayed the process until Malia begged for a break before sequestering her cousin on a trip to the nearest sandwich place to get food for twenty people.

The circle broke into groups of people. Liam made a beeline for Isaac and Stiles, hoping to have a quiet talk just the three of them, but Lydia and Scott would not let them plot separately, so they tagged along.

“This is all very well,” the younger beta said, “but there is still one elephant in the room.”

***

“Before we continue,” Isaac said once everyone finished their food. “Stiles has already mentioned how he, Liam and I have been doing some odd stuff while dreaming. But our dreaming and the arrival of the sleepers to our nemeton is not just chance.” 

The blond werewolf swallowed and steadied himself before continuing.

“Last summer we… erm… you might remember that we encountered an Outer God,” Isaac clenched his fist to stop his hand from trembling and forced himself not to say the name out loud. “He, erm… well… back _then_ he told me something that has only become relevant and meaningful now. My werewolf family line goes back many centuries apparently, and even then the Lahey werewolves were already involved in his plan. But last summer Nyarl—the Outer God told me that I was a dreamwalker and that I had a connection to something he called the wolf star.”

The pack knew already one half, because for months Isaac had done nothing but brag about how he was a knight in shining armour which, according to him, made Scott a damsel in distress. But the revelation about the wolf star suddenly gave Isaac’s cool backstory an unwelcome and eerie edge.

“And it was not just me, I think my brother is also involved in this Lahey curse. My brother, whom Jackson knew as well, he’s… well, he… he died in Afghanistan.” To say that Isaac had never liked to talk about his brother was an understatement, and the pack knew it. The werewolves in particular could feel his anguish through their pack bond.

“All this is relevant,” Stiles continued, “because the wolf star, the _stella lupina_ is the star under which we need to carry out the ritual at the nemeton.”

“I think we all know better than to call this a coincidence,” Ethan said, his eyes fixed on Isaac, and trying to reach out with his inner wolf to reassure his friend.

“There is also the fact that we can… We hear my brother’s voice calling me,” Isaac added. “It sounds like him though. Dunno if… Well, I _do_ ; it can’t be him.”

Here was where Stiles and Isaac disagreed again. Isaac refused to believe that anything good would come from walking into the Dreamlands when it was so clearly a luring trap. Stiles insisted that Nyarlathotep had no power over the Dreamlands, and that nothing from within could be connected to the Outer God. Because nobody really knew much about this subject (Lydia and Mason had never studied anything about the occult dimension of dreams), they reached a stalemate. That is, until Hypathia, seeing the confrontation, explained through Lydia what the sleepers knew about the Dreamlands. According to them, Hypnos and Nodens were the gods that ruled the Dreamlands. The sleepers knew Nyarlathotep as the Black Pharaoh, and they knew that Nodens was always instrumental in defeating the Black Pharaoh. Various heads turned to Mason, who had done the most research on Nyarlathotep, and while he did not agree completely, he said he bought most of what had been said.

“Isaac, I know you think this is a trap. And I agree, it is most likely a trap,” Liam added, making Stiles throw his hands in the air and roll his eyes with an exaggerated groan. “But this gate to the Dreamlands has your name written all over. This one is for _you_. For us. Whatever lies beyond it we can face together.”

“If we don’t enter tonight it is likely that we will never have another chance,” Stiles threw his comment.

“See it this way,” Liam ignored Stiles. “We are better prepared to walk into a trap that we know about rather than risk fate hitting us by surprise. It’s Oedipus all over again,” he added after a few thoughtful seconds.

“We don’t know what this wolf star business is all about,” Isaac reminded everyone.

“But the Dreamlands are meant to be this safe space. Knights on zebras aside,” Liam admitted with a scrunched face. “Don’t you have any curiosity?”

The thing was that Isaac _was_ curious. He wanted to go back and see that tavern and explore all the possibilities of a world in which he could literally get his dreams come true. He was above all curious about what memory of his brother could be trapped behind that gate. But he was also afraid of what that might be. He had already come to terms with his brother leaving him, and even if he never had a chance to say a proper goodbye, he was not sure he wanted to revisit that particular chapter again.

It was then that he remembered that he had already closed that chapter. He had gone back home and recovered his dog tags. He had refurbished and painted and cleaned the old house. He had begun a new chapter in Beacon Hills. Perhaps now he was ready to face that part of his past again. Or was he?

Isaac saw the expecting eyes of the pack on him. From what had been said, everyone felt that entering this world of dreams was important, and probably relevant (even if Liam’s reference to Oedipus flew over many heads), to their current situation. They wanted to believe Stiles, who insisted that the Dreamlands were safe. The werewolf bit his lip and began to scratch his elbow when Lydia gave him the answer he needed.

“Isaac, honey,” the strawberry blonde said as she took Isaac to the far side of the silo, while Jackson distracted everyone’s attention with some irrelevant question and Scott looked as his boyfriend debated internally with a pained expression. “If you decide to enter the Dreamlands tonight, do it for you. Not for Stiles, not for Liam, not for the sleepers. Not for your brother and not even for Scott. Do it because you make the decision. Anything might happen after tonight, good or bad, regardless of your decision. But think that you may be able to take back control over your dreams rather than let them dictate what happens. Nobody likes to see those two blue eyes puffy because you can’t get your beauty sleep.”

***

The rest of the meeting had to be cut short when the Sheriff and the two other deputies in the silo received the call that there had been another animal attack. This time it had been outside Beacon Hills, near the old Spanish mission, which was close enough to the cave to confirm their worst suspicions. The situation was getting out of control, and while the Sheriff could not ask all homeowners to plaster the corners of their houses, he could cordon off those areas around the cave and the old Rangers’ Office. Noah may or may not have mumbled something about demolishing ‘that cursed building’.

Seeing as it was getting late and that it was impossible for the pack to patrol every single angle in town and that they had eight marked people, Scott decided that they had better end their meeting. Once they knew more about the wolf star (if they could find anything about it) and the actual timings of the ritual, they would be able to figure out the specifics of what, where, and when needed doing.

It soon became clear that a part of the pack was going to pull an all-nighter doing (yet again) life-or-death emergency research, while another part of the pack had to fall asleep regardless. Deaton, Mason, and Lydia fell in the first category, while Liam, Isaac and Stiles belonged in the second. Even so, it took a combination of pleading, threatening and ordering to get Stiles to accept that he needed to be a napper and not a researcher for that night.

Liam was terrified by the prospect of the Hound coming for him in his sleep, so he begged Scott to take him with him for the night. Stiles overheard that and put forward the case that he did not want to sleep on his own either, and that he needed to be close to Liam and Isaac in the morning anyways, so they could contrast information the moment they woke up. But Scott soon realised that the logistics of that night were going to be more complicated than he anticipated, because he definitely could not leave the sleepers or Liam sleep on their own if they were targeted by the Hound.

Eventually, Scott asked for a volunteer to go to his and Isaac’s flat to bring a few sleeping bags, torches and food, seeing that the non-researchers in the pack were going to camp in an abandoned cement silo for the night. Chris was quick to put his hand up.

“Coming, Isaac?” the hunter asked, even if the werewolf knew he was not being given the option, so he quickly kissed Scott and walked out of the silo as the sun set, leaving his boyfriend and his friends behind.

The car trip was uncomfortably silent. Isaac sensed that Chris wanted to say something, but he could also tell from the hunter’s grimace that he was struggling to find the right way. Chris had always had a unique approach to parenting, and verbalising had not always been his forte.

“I don’t know why, alright? I don’t know why it’s easier for me to face an alien and its cultist minions than it is to walk to _Scott_ and tell him about my dreams,” Isaac said when he could not take Chris’ thinking silence any more.

“You know that you could have told me or Melissa about all of this, right?” he eventually asked.

Isaac ducked his head, before speaking again. “Is this where you say ‘your mother and I have been worried’?” his tone was harsher than necessary, but he was not in the mood for more crap.

“You know I’d never say that,” Chris stated seriously. Out of necessity, Chris had become Isaac’s legal father, but he would let him decide how to define their relationship. While they were happy to step over Coach Lahey in this aspect, neither Chris nor Melissa would ever dare to replace Isaac’s mother, even if he called Melissa ‘mum’ every now and then. “And that’s not the point. I can see you know that already.”

Isaac looked out of the window and watched the houses and street lamps pass by.

“I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m trying not to think,” was Isaac’s sardonic reply. Chris turned around for a second to stare Isaac down. Scott might be the alpha, but Isaac still had a difficult time confronting male adults in positions of authority. Isaac sighed. “I can’t understand why entering the Dreamlands will be such a great idea.”

“It _is_ a trap,” Chris agreed without a prompt. “But Liam was right: it’s better to walk knowingly into a trap than encountering it unawares.”

“It’s not that… I can understand that; it’s the dreams. The _nightmares_. It’s the sick joke of using my dead brother to lure me in,” the werewolf admitted as he leant his head against the SUV’s window. “Lydia said…”

“Lydia said what?” Chris asked when Isaac did not follow up. Both knew that they were uncomfortable talking about _thoughts_ and _feelings_ , but there were times when it could not be avoided.

“She said that I might be able to regain control over my dreams.”

“Isaac,” Chris added after a few thoughtful seconds, “this is not a pack decision. It’s yours. This is for you and your peace of mind.”

“I’m not sure that being taunted by my brother will be good for my peace of mind,” Isaac admitted in a sullen tone. “Cam might be the first thing, but what’ll be next? My life here with Scott. With you and Melissa? All going down the drain. Story of my life, only allowed to have good things just so I can lose them,” he mumbled to himself.

Chris remained silent as he thought, because it seemed that it was not all about Camden after all. It was, but there was also a deep, ingrained fear of abandonment. Of losing. The hunter stopped the car and stepped out, looking up at the building where he used to live, wondering what he would do if some outside force used Allison to try to get to him. Isaac slamming the car door startled him back. Argent looked as his now-son walked to the front door with his head bobbed and his hands in his pockets. He pulled his phone out and made a couple of calls before following Isaac into the apartment block.

As they drove back with a boot full of overnight kit (Stiles had been too right when he had said that their flat had become the _de facto_ pack headquarters, and Isaac had never thought he would have two pairs of bunk beds in their spare room or a box full of sleeping bags), Chris took a slight detour. Isaac was about to ask when he recognised the road he was taking, and a few minutes later he was walking out of the car in front of the McCall house.

“Hello, sunshine,” Melissa said when Isaac got out of the car. She was holding something.

“Hey… Chris, have we forgotten something?”

“Yes,” he said curtly as he walked and kissed his fiancée. Isaac followed and Melissa brought him into a hug.

“Isaac, this is for you,” Melissa handed a large thermos flask over to him. “It’s also for Liam, but I doubt it will do Stiles any good.”

“What is it?”

“Hot cocoa. Will help you go to sleep. Chris told me about it.”

 _Sneaky old bastard_ , Isaac thought.

“Isaac,” Melissa said as she put her hands on his shoulders. “You have three families: one you were born into, one through the Bite, and one you’ve gained. And our own family might be small, but we will never let you go.”

“You don’t have to fear about us,” Chris added. “I can’t say for Scott, and I hope I never have to have another shovel talk with him, but we will always be here for you.”

Isaac was unexpectedly moved by this. Something inside him wished to say that _that’s_ what everybody said; that they were just saying that because it was what he wanted to hear. But he knew they were telling the truth, even without his werewolf senses.

“Whatever happens tonight with the gate and whatever you find beyond it if you go through, you still belong here with us,” Melissa said as she caressed Isaac’s cheek while he blinked hard a couple of times and shook his head.

“I think we should get going,” Isaac said, suddenly very conscious about his wet eyes. He kissed Melissa’s cheek as he walked away and promised to come around tomorrow morning.

Back in the car, Isaac refused to look at Chris, who had the traces of a smug smirk on his face.

“The Argents have never dealt with dreams or dreamers,” Chris explained without prompt after a while, “because as hunters we were bound to face shapeshifters.” Isaac noticed the absence of the word ‘hunt’, showing how far the Argents had embraced Allison’s code. “But we are an ancient family with strong connections with the supernatural.”

Now Isaac looked at Chris with curiosity, but said nothing.

“I had a quick conversation with Aunt Camille,” Chris continued. Camille was Chris’ aunt and the head of the French Argents. “There is an old legend that somehow made its way to the Argent’s lore, we don’t know how. Someone woke up _knowing_ about it. But it was so vague and unrelated that it has never been taken seriously. In fact, only the Argent Elders know about it, and they memorise it purely out of tradition.”

Isaac was intrigued now. The Argents in general, and Chris in particular, were not ones to throw unrelated and random stories for casual conversation. The werewolf knew there was a point to this anecdote, so he waited.

“ _Où les Argent ne rêvent, les pèlerins prennent la relève_ ,” Chris quoted.

“’Where the Argents cannot dream, the pilgrims take over’” Isaac translated. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that there are also hunters in the Dreamlands,” Chris replied. “These pilgrims, whoever they are, would be friendly towards the Argents.”

“And how does that help?”

“It means that there is someone who knows more about this. Someone who might be able to help you when you’re _there_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write -- especialy Malia and the Sleepers trying to communicate. *Gods*, Google cannot translate Latin at all...
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested, this is [Petronius' very short werewolf story](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2007.01.0027%3Atext%3DSatyricon%3Asection%3D62). And Aetius of Amida (an early Byzantine medic who lived in the 6th c. AD) really had a "Cure against Lycanthropy"!:
> 
> "Those who are afflicted by the disease cynanthropy or lycanthropy go out at night… and imitate wolves or dogs in every way and hang around tombs until daylight. These are the symptoms that allow you to recognize sufferers: they are pale, their gaze is listless, they have dry eyes, and they cannot produce tears. Their eyes are sunken and their tongue is dry. They are thirsty and their shins are covered in wounds from falling continuously and being bitten by dogs…  
> You can treat it when it manifests by opening a vein and draining the blood until the point of fainting, then feed the patient with nourishing food. The patient should be given a sweet bath. After rubbing him with the whey of milk for three days, apply wild gourd salve… After the cleansing, anoint him with the antidote for viper bites…  
> When evening comes and the disease manifests, apply soporific lotion to the head and rub the nostrils with scents and opium. Sometimes you should provide sleep-inducing drinks as well."


	20. The ballad of Bobby Finstock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was not meant to happen. The time travellers had arrived already? And Lahey and the other two idiots had still not opened the gate? They were going to run out of time and screw up the prophecy. Nothing was going according to plan, which meant that something was going very wrong. But Bobby Finstock would crack this. He would identify what was wrong and find a solution. He would make sure the plans of the Old Gods of Earth came together.
> 
> OR: Coach has been busier than expected during the last weeks

Coach Finstock woke up in a foul mood that morning. He had had high expectations for his dreams that night, but nothing had happened. And it was not the first night that had happened. From late in June or early in July he had been having more troubled dreams than usual and, as far as he could tell, it was all Isaac Lahey’s fault.

Coach was a man with few expectations. He expected his coffee to be so sugary that he could stick the spoon vertically. He expected his players to do their best and expected lacrosse victories. He also wished for students who would pay attention in class. His most urgent desire, however, was to find a way of getting rid of Greenberg, who even after (finally) finishing high school was still a pain in the royals. Bobby Finstock wanted to believe that those were simple pleasures in life. If he wished for simple things, it would be easier for him to get them – that was the Finstock mantra he could apply to any stressful situation. He could be content with those, and would avoid larger disappointments. Was it, then, too much to ask for a dream where Lahey, Dunbar and Bilinski had the decency to do what they were meant to do? Bobby rubbed the sleep off his eyes before opening the window to enjoy the blinding sun and walking into the shower.

That morning he followed the same routine he followed every other summer morning, and he enjoyed it. Summer was the time when his only concerns were planning the strategy for the upcoming lacrosse season and how much he could recycle last year’s econ notes without Natalie noticing. Summer was also when he could go to the school and not worry about students or staff, so he could dance in his pants, listen to his old tunes, and eat his weight in Chinese takeaways on July the Fourth. That Sunday was not an exception, only that his plans nosedived and crashed when, once in the school, he looked out of the window and saw McCall with the rest standing around the Greek woman.

“Coat me in icing and call me cupcake,” he muttered as he peeked through the blinds before throwing his freshly-made coffee down the drain.

That was not meant to happen. The time travellers had arrived already? And Lahey and the other two idiots had still not opened the gate? They were going to run out of time and screw up the prophecy. Nothing was going according to plan, which meant that something was going _very_ wrong. He should have noticed before. In fact, he had noticed before, but he had decided to wait and see how events developed, which had backfired. Badly. Potentially fatally too. With his nose glued to the window, Coach waited until McCall and his friends left to a location unknown before scurrying back to his car and driving straight back home. He would have his lunch, dig out his hidden copy of the Pilgrim’s Codex and try to find something in there that would tell him why those three useless and pathetic idiots had not entered the Dreamlands yet. He needed to know because nothing was making sense and, when something did not make sense about the Dreamlands, it meant that external forces were at play. For the uninitiated, dreams were an uncontrollable random mystery; for the veteran dreamer, long term patterns and oracle prophecies were as clear as the moon in the sky.

Bobby Finstock would crack this. He would identify what was wrong and find a solution. He would make sure the plans of the Old Gods of Earth came together.

***

Bobby Finstock had lived in Beacon Hills all his life. His parents always told him that they had been amongst the first pioneers to come to California. His grandma told him with smug pride that her grandfather had welcomed the Hales when they first got to Beacon County. Bobby was never fussed about this, because from a very young age he had wanted to leave the town with its small town mentality and its recurrent, inexplicable and odd occurrences. His uncle Robert always told him stories about werewolves and wendigoes that lurked in the preserve, and about the mysterious creatures that dwelled in the caves of the hills, so Bobby grew up knowing about the local myths, but very soon he decided that he did not want to believe in them. Not believing made everything simpler, especially leaving.

In high school, Bobby was in the same year as Natalie and Melissa, with whom he had a friendship of sorts, and the same year as Brunski, who made his life miserable and gave him even more reasons to pack up and leave. His plans had always been to go to college, ideally far away out of state (Florida or Hawaii ideally) to get a degree and get a chance to coach a sports team – he was not fussy about which sport, as far as it was not basketball. Captain a team, become an assistant coach and, from there, Bobby would make the leap to college and professional leagues and the big money. Bobby Finstock had a plan.

The main problem Bobby had was that his plan never came to be. Bobby never secured a scholarship that could take him out of California. His only chance to coach was the Beacon Hills Cyclones. He had to see his old high school friends moving on with their lives, leaving town and getting married, while he had to remain. That was a low point in Bobby’s life, a moment when it seemed that the answers to all his questions were at the bottom of a bottle. It would not be fair to say that Bobby ever went into a bar looking for a brawl, but if the occasion arose, who was he to refuse?

The lowest and turning point for Bobby was the evening after the high school teacher’s Christmas party. A combination of beer, a very potent eggnog, and a tray of polar bears eventually led to a cut scene where Bobby was running around in circles in a stolen Beacon Hills High cheerleading top and his underwear, until he collapsed flat on his face on top of a massive tree stump in the middle of the preserve. Bobby hardly remembered anything from that night, but he was always thankful to Talia Hale for finding him and calling an ambulance, even if it was too late to save one of his testicles.

That combination would normally make a night memorable, but the most remarkable thing that happened to Bobby that night was what he saw while he was passed out on top of that dormant nemeton and the converging point of a dozen ley lines. Bobby could clearly remember the moment when he walked through the dark tunnels of a jungle cave until he stumbled across a massive black gate. In his hand, where he had been holding a machete, he was holding a large pair of bronze keys. Something deep inside him drew him towards the gate. It called him. So he put the key into the keyhole and opened the gate, forever changing his life.

The near-death experience, enhanced by the revelation that there was an entire world of Dreams he could explore, prompted a change in Bobby’s life. He stayed off the booze. He focused on his teaching, and became Coach Lahey’s assistant. It was a few years later that he came across Lahey’s eldest, a broad-shouldered teenager named Camden. Camden always was up to no good, but he was more a good-natured rascal than positively mischievous – although Bobby came to reassess his judgement when Camden discovered that Finstock’s birthday was the day before Halloween, beginning a long tradition of pranks that continued to this day. Bobby also noticed that Camden acted very differently when his father was around, but he never managed to put his finger on why, although he guessed that it had to do with Coach Lahey’s erratic behaviour after the death of his wife.

When Camden came to him one morning saying that he was leaving for the forces, Bobby did not know what to do. The kid was a promising star in the swimming team, and was doing great in class. If he remembered correctly, the kid had a little brother who was going to be left on his own with his loose cannon father. Bobby tried to reason, explain that perhaps that was not the right moment, that he needed to finish high school first, but Camden would not listen: he seemed determined, and there was nothing Bobby could have said or done to change his mind. There was obviously something that he was not telling, but Bobby was helpless and could not pry that out. The day Camden left and he saw Coach Lahey curse like a maniac in the gym, Bobby reinforced his vow never to touch alcohol again.

The only way, however, Bobby could keep his promise of not drinking and accept his life as a high school coach, was by enjoying his sleeps. When he learnt what it meant to be a dreamwalker, Bobby’s horizon expanded. His friends and co-workers had always known that Bobby was different, but they never could have guessed that his edge of borderline insanity came from the realisation that his existence in the awaken world was dull and mundane when compared to what he could see and do in the Dreamlands. He travelled far and wide, and went on wild adventures that were far better than spending the nights playing _GoldenEye_ and _Perfect Dark_ in his Nintendo64 – his previous goals in life. His renown and feats as a dreamwalker eventually reached the ears of the Oneiric Pilgrims, who recruited him into the Guild, giving Bobby’s life a renovated purpose.

It was not late after that when he received his main assignment: to search for and monitor one recent arrival, a non-dreamwalker who had been brought _physically_ into the Dreamlands for an undisclosed further plan. Bobby struggled to understand the full implications of his mission when he discovered that Camden Lahey was who had stumbled into the Dreamlands with a dagger of fate. The Tarannian Oracle gave Taliesin (Bobby’s Dreamland persona) one final warning: Camden had been given the chance to return to his brother, but it was the younger brother the one who was marked by the Wolf Star, the one who might bring death and doom when he became a full dreamwalker.

Of course, once he became aware of the depth and implications of the Dreamlands, Bobby saw the old stories he had heard about werewolves in Beacon Hills under a different light – especially when strange things began to happen around McCall and his clique. But Bobby was happy to be an armchair hero –or, rather, a bed and pillow hero. In Dreams he could fight nightgaunts and fend off byakhees, but when he was awake he was a fragile mortal. Taking an arrow in the gut did nothing but confirm his suspicions.

Bobby stuck to his dreamtime mission, even as his encounters with the day-time supernatural became more common, which all made sense once he learnt that McCall and his gang had reactivated the nemeton. He was forced to break his own promise not to meddle in the affairs of day-time supernaturals when he had to save Jackson and Ethan in the changing room when it seemed that Monroe’s hunters were about to wipe out the endemic Beacon Hills fauna. It all seemed to culminate the previous summer, when McCall and the others kidnapped him and abandoned him in Ms Morrell’s brother’s vet clinic while the ranger and the bookseller did something or other in the preserve – Coach did not want to know.

And now, Bobby Finstock, Oneiric Pilgrim and dreamwalker, had reached the end of the warm up. That night he expected to see the younger Lahey walk into the Dreamlands and push the first domino. He could only make sure to be there and keep his eyes open.

***

Dinner time came and the sun began to set. The Codex had clarified nothing, and Coach was crawling up the walls. He threw the book carelessly behind his empty drinks cabinet and blasted his dinner in the microwave. Thirty minutes later, Bobby Finstock was pushing the last peas in his plate around as he played with the leftover mashed potato until he dropped the fork. The rattling metallic noise echoed in his small kitchen before he pushed his chair with a screech. He paced two laps around his dinner table before grabbing the plate and putting it in the sink more aggressively than strictly necessary. He opened the fridge, picked up a carton of orange juice and drank straight out of it.

He had been following Camden Lahey in the Dreamlands for many years, and the last he checked he was already waiting at the bottom of the tower for his brother to come. Bobby cursed, because that was not the way it was meant to happen. Cantior had to fulfil his own internal quest, learn by himself why he had been given this opportunity, and accept that there was a reward. But something (or, more likely, someone) had told him. Someone who appeared to be in a hurry for the Lahey brothers to get together.

Bobby had a very clear idea about who this person was – the sorceress whom he and Olwyn had been chasing across the Dreamlands, the one who outside Sarnath had summoned those Leng spiders and forced him to wake up, losing all track of her. She must be a dreamwalker; not an outsider like Camden because they would have noticed, and not an intruder like Bilinski and the two others had been that one time they entered the Dreamlands through the arcane portal. Of course, that did not narrow his list of suspects much. The fact that she was probably plotting while awake as well was even more disturbing, but there was nothing he could do about that. Not until he knew where and when she was, at least. Half of the Pilgrims had already been notified, but this woman was slippery and sneaky.

The obvious and more terrifying question was not what she wanted, but whom she was working for. Someone interfering with two predestined brothers, probably trying to meddle with their re-encounter or, even worse, with Isaac’s confirmation as a dreamwalker with a clear ulterior motive. Bobby tried not to think about it, because those characteristics narrowed his number of suspects to less than a handful, and none of them meant good news to anyone. Olwyn knew about his fears, and the fact that she agreed with him only filled him with dread. Bobby cursed the Outer Gods as he instinctively reached for his gold medallion.

He had tried to talk to Lahey, Bilinski and Dunbar in dreams before, but he never managed to get his warning through. He had to reach them in their own oneiric antechamber, which meant that he was never in full control of the dream. The first time it had not been planned. He was summoned to their dream in that old school bus and then he saw Lahey pull the keys out of his pocket. He had tried to reach out for them without any success, because he could not understand why they had not crossed through the gates already.

Something was definitely happening, interfering with the pre-destined pace and course of events. Bobby Finstock’s thoughts veered to a dangerous pit of fear whenever he considered the possible suspects.

He knew that it was against all rules, and he dared not think about the consequences, but in the morning, if those three asses had not crossed the gates, he would go and find them personally. Awake.

With that thought, that still sent a chilled shiver down his spine, Bobby went off to bed.

***

When he opened his eyes, Bobby was Taliesin. He was in the Pilgrims’ Guildhall, the heavy medallion weighing down on his chest, and his scarlet cloak wrapping his body. He looked around, but Olwyn was not there, so he decided to lose no time. He grabbed his staff and hid his curved dagger safely in a sheath on his back. Once he was sure that the closing rune was in place, Taliesin walked out of the building and headed towards the hills.

The moment he stepped on the cobbled square of that small town, he immediately noticed the storm that was brewing towards the north. Storms in the Dreamlands were not uncommon, but considering what _should_ have happened and how it contrasted with what _was_ happening, the tempest could only be a bad omen. It came as no surprise that the wind was blowing the rolling thunder clouds and their blue lightning glow towards the Moon Tower.

“Head home, old timer,” he warned a local villager who was dragging his donkey laden with bricks towards the bridge. “A storm is coming. And it won’t be pretty, if you catch my drift.”

The old man had seen enough Oneiric Pilgrims in his lifetime to know when to heed their advice, and with a quick nod turned around, which the donkey seemed to appreciate.

“Lucky ass,” Taliesin mumbled as he tightened his cloak around his shoulders.

It took him a couple of hours to climb to the base of the tower, but he needed to take a detour and backtracked a few times to make sure that he was not being followed. Eventually he made it to the hilltop, where the wind howled through the heavy mist that soaked his clothes.

“Ah, Cantior, good to see you here,” he called as he held tight to his staff and looked up to the black clouds that now hid the upper reaches of the tower and covered the valley in an eerie darkness.

“Ah, Taliesin,” Cantior spat. “The man who knows me and my father, who knows why I am here, and the one who tortures me by keeping it all quiet.”

“We’ve been through this before, Cantior,” Taliesin said as he found a rounded rock protected by the tower on which to sit.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The gods, and fate, and that mysterious woman who is waiting to stab me in the back.”

“Your words, not mine.”

Taliesin observed as Cantior threw another log into the brazier that heated his shack. After waiting for so many weeks at the entrance to the Moon Tower, the outsider had decided to make his waiting place more comfortable.

“You haven’t asked me why I haven’t given up,” Cantior yelled over the wind, and the question took Taliesin by surprise.

“Do you want me to ask?”

“Nah, forget about it,” he poked the fire with his rapier. “I know you know the answer, and also that you won’t tell me.”

“You’re wrong on that one. I would tell you, but you would not like it,” Taliesin replied as he looked up. Thunderbolts now illuminated the clouds and outlined the dark shape of the looming tower. He did not notice Cantior walking towards him until he leant against the wall by his side with the point of his rapier casually on Taliesin’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“We’ve been through this before—and I don’t mean just the explanation,” Taliesin said as he tightened his grip on his staff. True, the last time they had crossed more than words Cantior had been drunk outside a tavern, but the Pilgrim had more than one trick up his sleeve.

“Then why don’t you go away?”

“For the same reason that you don’t go away. Just waiting for something to happen.”

“Enough of fate. Enough of the gods,” Cantior’s anger was mirrored by the deafening thunder of the storm that now engulfed the hilltop. And there it was: the same determined and angry face that he had seen years ago when Camden Lahey had told him that he was leaving Beacon Hills and enlisting.

With a swift movement, Taliesin clobbered Cantior’s chest with his staff, knocking the wind out of him, and giving himself enough time to stand upright and at a safe distance from the sharp blade.

“Tell me who I am! Tell me how you know me!” Cantior demanded, holding the sword with a firm grip.

“Sorry, son. Rules are rules,” the Pilgrim replied in an appeasing tone, but still kept his staff ready, pointing away from him at shoulder height.

“I’ve had enough!” the outlander yelled while the storm gathered strength above them. The heavy mist had turned into rain, and despite Cantior’s wet face, Taliesin knew that it was not all due to the rainwater. “I’ve thrown my life away, pursuing this- this- this _nightmare_. This fate which is seemingly mine, but I don’t get a say about it!”

“I could give you a priest’s answer and tell you that it’s not for you to understand. And I could give you a friend’s answer and tell you that there is a plan laid out for you, and that it’s for the best.”

“You’re no friend of mine,” Cantior said with bile as he lunged forward with his rapier. Taliesin parried it with apparent ease.

“There was a time when you trusted me.”

“Stop torturing me and tell me _now_! I have been years in this country, thinking about what I have done and not done. I finally came to accept that it had to happen, but there is a limit to my patience.”

“You found out too early,” Taliesin caved in. He had known this kid for years, and he had to give him something. “You have been led to this.”

“Who did that?” Cantior replied in a neutral tone which Taliesin could not translate. “When was I supposed to find out?”

“When the time was right, Cantior!”

A lightning bolt hit on a nearby tree, followed by deafening thunder, which brought both men to their knees. The wind picked up, so now sheets of rain hit them horizontally. Taliesin threw his staff away and approached the man who had been ready a few seconds before to drive a sword through him. He put a hand on his shivering shoulder before he spoke again.

“Listen, Cantior,” the Pilgrim had to shout over the wind, even at such a close distance. “Your destiny has been laid out in front of you by the gods, which sucks. But there are forces outside the gods’ control meddling and messing things up. You found out about the Wolf Knight before your time. You found out about the Moon Tower before you needed to.”

“How does that matter?” Cantior punched the wet turf in frustration.

“It matters when the timing does not play in your favour.”

Another bolt of lightning crackled around the tower and mossy roof tiles fell with a loud crash a few yards away from them.

“Something is going very wrong,” Taliesin finally admitted. “The timing has been fucked up. The knight has not arrived in time—“

“The Wolf Star has not shined yet!” Cantior interrupted. He heard Taliesin’s explanation and for some unexplainable reason he knew deep inside that he must be right. The woman in the ruins of Sarnath bringing him information had been too good and too _well timed_ to be true. A semi-transparent lens had always blurred his memories of his encounter with the Wolf Knight in the tavern. And there were those echoes of a voice, high-pitched and strident, telling him something. Was the librarian in Olathoë also in on it? “That fucking green star of destiny was supposed to mark the time!”

“What star?”

Before Cantior could give his answer the loudest crackling of thunder rumbled across the sky, shaking the very foundations of the hills as a blinding blue glow pierced through the thick cloud cover. When the echo died in the distance, the rain had stopped, even if the chilly wind kept blowing. And, as it blew away the clouds, a clearing opened in the sky, through which Cantior _saw_ a green and purple bright twinkle against the dark blue heavens.

The outsider stood up and walked through the puddles to the edge of the hilltop, staring at the bright point of unnatural light that hung from the sky, almost within reach.

“The Wolf Star,” he whispered with incredulity. “That’s the Wolf Star!”

While Taliesin struggled to get back on his feet, Cantior ran back to the Moon Tower. He could hear voices coming from _within_. Voices and steps, getting louder and clearer by the second. He barely noticed Taliesin’s hand resting on his shoulder when he could hear the unmistakable sound of a door bolt and the rattling of keys.

There was a heavy clunk, and the door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was very fun to write AND now we have an explanation for Coach, his erratic behaviour, and his constant presence in the boys' dreams.


	21. Through the Black Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam, Stiles and Isaac walked through the Gate, only to find themselves in a black void. Behind them they could see their imploding shared loop or, at least, its last remains. The collapsing columns and vanishing floor were still, like a photograph. Isaac looked with curiosity, admiring the terrifying beauty of that embryonic abyss.
> 
> OR: Isaac, Liam, and Stiles make it through the Black Gates into the Dreamlands

The silo was perhaps the most uncomfortable place in which to sleep Isaac had even encountered – and that included an abandoned train depot and the freezer in his basement. But Melissa McCall’s Patented Hot CocoaTM did wonders. He snuggled his sleeping bag between Scott and Jackson, who were on first watch, and forced himself to sleep.

The next Isaac saw was a metallic door. He could feel metallic walls around him, too close for comfort, so he punched and kicked the door until he got out of the locker, only to step with a splash in mud. He had come out of a locker, but the locker was in some sort of dark and asphyxiating hot jungle. Dark, hot, and _damp_. He was sweating through his cream-coloured linen shirt, so he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and walked out into the dark jungle, following the one path he could see. The deep green vegetation around him was so dense that he ignored all thoughts of going off the track and, anyways, his inner wolf told him to stick to the path and walk ahead. It did not seem like a bad plan, especially because the jungle closed the path behind him with every step he took.

“Hello again,” a voice called from a nearby tree. Isaac let his claws and fangs out, expecting Theo for some strange reason, but the person that stepped onto the path was not his archnemesis. Wearing a dirty grey-green shirt and khaki shorts, it was the same handsome tall guy that had found him in Liam’s old high school.

“Oh, it’s _you_ again.”

“Hello Isaac.”

“Aren’t you dead?” Isaac asked with innocent curiosity. “Only there’s something off going on with my brother, who’s also dead and somewhere in these dreams.”

“Well,” Brett sighed. “Can we discuss this as we walk along? It’s just that Liam needed me to find you.”

“Sure.”

“Cool, because we haven’t got much time,” Brett added as he turned around and jogged down the path, Isaac hot on his heels.

“Are you really from the Dreamlands?” Isaac asked as they went deeper into the jungle.

“Nah. I’m simply part of your shared loop,” Brett admitted as he dashed through the branches. “It’s because of Liam, really.”

“So you don’t know about my brother?”

“I only know what Liam knows.”

“Wait – are you Liam in a different body?” Isaac stopped.

“I’m what Liam thought I was. That’s all I know,” Brett stopped and turned around. “And we better keep moving, Isaac.”

“What’s wrong with this jungle? And where is Liam?” Isaac’s question was followed by an ominous crashing sound and a ululating growl behind them.

“A lot and not that far. Now keep moving,” Brett insisted. Isaac did not have to be told twice.

As they ran, Isaac caught glimpses around him of dark slimy creatures trying to break through the wall of vegetation. He could feel the canopy above him crackling and crumbling, and he could sense a soul-chilling cold wind blowing behind them, killing the jungle.

“Liam and Stiles are just ahead,” Brett said through heavy breaths. “This is where you continue on your own.”

“What? You’re not coming? You can’t just stay behind! That- that jungle is… _something_!”

“God, you so are Scott’s boyfriend,” Brett grinned. “I can see why Liam is so fond of you.”

“Stop philosophising and let’s get moving,” Isaac grabbed Brett’s wrist, but the other werewolf wriggled out of his grip. When Isaac looked up, he saw Brett’s eyes flashing gold and his fangs out.

“You have to get to Stiles and Liam. You’re the one with the keys. I’ll get you some extra time.”

As Brett said this, the slimy creatures that rampaged through the jungle roared closer. Inner Wolf told Isaac to run to his friends, to let Brett do his job and, against his will, Isaac ran away leaving Brett behind. The last he saw was the green vegetation dying and crumbling into a grey dust, revealing a black abyss behind. A few seconds later he heard Brett roar, and the unmistakable sounds of a fight.

In a couple of minutes Isaac reached a clearing in the jungle, where Liam and Stiles were already waiting for him.

“Are you alright?” Isaac shouted in panic the moment he saw them. Liam in particular seemed in pretty bad shape. “What happened? What is this place? I thought we were going for the gates?”

“Calm down, big guy,” Stiles hushed him, putting his hands up. Isaac brought it down a notch, but still crouched by Liam to see what was wrong with him.

“The jungle is the last corner of our dream loop,” Liam explained. His injuries looked bad, but they were mostly superficial cuts that had stained his clothes in blood, but that had healed already. “And it’s collapsing.”

“What do you mean _collapsing_?”

“It means that we’re late,” Stiles huffed in resignation. The clearing in the jungle looked over a cliff, at the bottom of which they could see the burning ashes of a wide expanse which once must have been their own private dream loop.

“Wait, wait – can’t we _dream_ that we are somewhere else? Like when we travelled to Arrakis?” Isaac was thinking fast.

“We could try that now that it’s us three, but I don’t think there are many places left we can dream-transform into Arrakis,” Liam sounded tired. Worse than tired: he sounded disappointed.

“So that’s _it_?” Isaac spat.

“It’s a bit late for you to be all self-righteous about being in a hurry,” Stiles snapped. “We’ve—“

“Stiles, don’t,” Liam interrupted as he stood up. “No blame game, please. Not now. That won’t help. Let’s try something positive for once?”

Stiles fumed as he looked at the two werewolves. There were too many things he wanted to say while pointing fingers at Isaac. It was all his _fault_. Stiles pursed his lips, but deep inside he knew that Liam was right. He bit his knuckles with a dramatic grunt, and he patted Isaac’s shoulder as he mumbled something.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac apologised.

“That’s fine, Isaac. We’re all together now at least.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Stiles pointed at the treeline.

The vegetation had all died and the black void behind was now clearly visible. The green grass on which they stood had turned into embers and cinders. The ground began to groan and crack up as unnatural howls and screeches echoed from the darkness. Liam took a step towards Isaac, but he had to step back, because the patch of soil where his friend was had sunk a chest-deep into the ground – or maybe it was Liam’s ground that had risen.

“Have we seen the Black Gates anywhere today?” Isaac yelled over the apocalyptic cacophony.

“Not at all,” Liam shouted down.

Isaac tried to jump up, but he lost his footing as he leaped when the ground under him vanished into a fiery pit. Thankfully, Liam and Stiles threw themselves to reach him and grabbed his arms.

“Haul me up, will you?”

But before Stiles could add his own snarky remark he had to let go of Isaac’s hand because a crack opened, creating a widening gap between them. Liam pulled Isaac up to his level, which was now very clearly a small standing island surrounded by what Isaac could only describe as a view of hell.

Liam looked around him and then up at Isaac, whose face was a mask of regret.

“I think it’s time to wake up,” Liam shouted at Stiles.

“Wait, no!” Stiles yelled back, alternating nervous looks between the chasm that separated him from his friends and the advancing darkness with its unsettling noises. “Don’t! We are in our dream loop. This is _our_ dream loop! We still have to find the gates!”

Isaac was about to argue, but then he saw three black figures soaring silently through the sky. He pointed at them, but he could not vocalise any warning. They looked like angels, or like demons. Definitely like humans with long serrated wings and black leathery skin. And a barbed tail. When they got closer, Isaac could see their inward-curving horns and their completely blank faces. The creatures circled around them like grotesque vultures, until one of them dived into Stiles.

“STILES!!”

But his warning was too late, and the flying creature pushed Stiles to the ground and dug its sharp-looking talons into his body, making him wriggle and scream with laughter. Isaac and Liam had no time to think too much about that, because they too were pinned to the ground by these flying and silent creatures. Liam roared, and tried to claw at the creature, but it already had its talons and tail trailing all over his body. Isaac knew that he had a creature on top of him, but he kicked it, sending it away as he reached for his friend who could not stop contorting and squirming and… _giggling_? But before he could claw at the monster, his own ankle was caught by a black barbed tail and he fell flat on his stomach. Then he felt the talons digging into his sides and pits, tickling him.

“Nooooo! Stop it, you—haaa ha ha ha. Jesus, stop. I’ll claw your insides out! Ha! Hahaha! I hate you! _Stop_!”

The creature pulled Isaac towards it and flipped him over, pressing with its precise talons all the tickle points he had, and some he never knew about (secretly wishing Scott never learnt about them). He stopped clawing, and focused all his efforts into protecting his sensitive sides and neck, but the creature had talons _and_ a tail, so Isaac was defenceless. His cheeks and tummy began to hurt and he was running out of breath. Subdued and turned into a giggling rag doll, Isaac surrendered. If he was going to lose his chance of knowing the Dreamlands, this at least added a happy note to the Armageddon that surrounded him. He went completely limp, and the creature closed its talons around him, picked him up, and flew away.

***

The creature dropped the three of them at the entrance of a cave. The ceiling was ragged and marked by hundreds of hanging stalactites, but the floor was made of polished grey slabs of marble. Behind them, and blocking the exit to the hell of cinders and ashes of the outside world, stood the three winged silent creatures that had brought them there. With one terrifying claw they pointed towards the deepest corners of the cave, and the three friends obeyed.

The reddish light that came from the cave mouth was soon substituted by a golden glow ahead that helped them navigate through the long corridor until they reached a familiar hall full of rows of columns that directed their eyes towards the Black Gate.

“Does this mean we’ve made it?” Liam asked with eyes wide open.

“Well, maybe. We just need—“ Stiles looked around but Isaac interrupted him.

“The _keys_ ,” the werewolf said as he introduced his hands in his suddenly heavy pockets.

Gingerly he pulled out a black iron ring that looped two shiny bronze keys. They were exactly as Isaac remembered. For a brief instant, he felt as if he was at that windswept concrete peer outside the school bus again. The only different thing now was that the keys were vibrating and glowing with their own light.

Behind them came the now familiar noise of falling rock and collapsing caves. To their sides, the furthest pillars were shattering and crumbling to dust, and the golden light that illuminated the hall flickered. The three friends nodded simultaneously and sprinted down the forest of columns towards the gate. The slabs beneath them cracked and lifted and, through the fissures, they caught glimpses of a deep pink and mauve emptiness.

Stiles tripped and slipped, falling on his back. He would have slid into the primordial abyss that engulfed their imploding dream loop, had Isaac not thrown himself down to grab his friend’s hand.

“Stiles!” Liam yelled as he stopped and turned around.

“I’ve got him,” Isaac shouted back as he waved Liam to keep running. “Catch these!” he lobbed the bronze keys.

“What?” Liam panicked even if the keys landed safely in his hands.

“Open the Gate,” Isaac instructed. “We’re right behind you.”

“But—“

“Liam, just GO!” Stiles said as he struggled to regain his footing. Liam clenched the keys in his hand and ran off.

“Come on, Stilinski, help me out?” Isaac groaned as he pulled Stiles to a more stable flagstone. Behind them, more columns were absorbed by the abyss. The cavern had long ago vanished. “Lydia will kill me if I lose you into the chasm.”

“I bet you wouldn’t mind,” Stiles teased.

“Shut up. You _know_ I wouldn’t let you fall into that rift of oblivion,” Isaac said without turning around as he dashed forward.

Stiles was touched by the not-that-random declaration of affection where he had expected sass, but before he could throw in another snarky comment, Isaac jerked his wrist and pulled him as he ran towards the Black Gate. Liam was already there, but he was having difficulty opening it.

“I can’t find the key hole!” Liam panicked. “There isn’t one. Isaac!”

The last column fell from its base, crushing the floor behind Liam. Isaac unceremoniously threw Stiles before jumping over it himself. He decided not to look back – the noises of crackling masonry and imploding matter were odd enough to give him literal nightmares for years to come.

“Isaac, there’s no key hole,” Stiles said as he patted the smooth surface of the Black Gate. “There’s nothing here! It’s just polished _blackness_!”

Liam was now pummelling at the door while Stiles searched for any hidden crevice they had not seen, even as the universe around them contracted, leaving just an eldritch vacuum. Isaac tried to think, but he could not. _It’s a gate, it must have a key hole. Why else would they give us those keys? God, Isaac, think. Think! How are you going to find Cam if you can’t get through a fucking_ door _!_

“Cam?” he said aloud, an idea suddenly forming in his mind. “Cam! CAM! Camden, open the door!”

Isaac did not have much time to think about the possible ramifications that it had been his brother’s name that allowed them to cross. He only saw that as he shouted for his brother, an iridescent purple-green point of light appeared on the polished surface of the gate. Isaac snatched the keys off Liam’s hand and introduced one of them without difficulty into the hole of light.

With a muted click, the Gates opened. Isaac stepped through and time froze.

***

Liam, Stiles and Isaac walked through the Gate, only to find themselves in a black void. Behind them they could see their imploding shared loop or, at least, its last remains. The collapsing columns and vanishing floor were still, like a photograph. Isaac looked with curiosity, admiring the terrifying beauty of that embryonic abyss.

In front of them there was an open gate. It looked suspiciously like the gate they just opened, but it was flanked by two roaring fires. Beyond it, Isaac could see the same point of green-purple light shining bright against a deep blue sky.

“What’s this place?”

“You are in the liminal edge; the threshold, if you prefer, of the Dreamlands,” a warm voice called from the darkness. Isaac and Liam instinctively huddled together, and Stiles joined them because he did not like to feel left out.

“Show yourself,” Isaac found enough confidence to say that aloud.

Two men with shaved heads and beards stepped into the lit area. Their skin was tanned, and their eyes charcoaled. They were, also, in what Isaac could only describe as a _skirt_ and wearing sandals. If he had to bet, Isaac would have all his money on ‘creepy Egyptian priests’.

“We have been waiting for you. Not that time means anything in here,” Creepy Priest One said with a smile.

Isaac stood still. Liam and Stiles did not move either.

“What’s this? Weren’t we meant to be in the Dreamlands?” Isaac demanded.

“Not yet, Wolf Knight,” the second priest said without really answering the question.

“You are hurt and look exhausted. Please, have some water,” priest number one said, pointing at a silver font full of water which had not been there a second before. Isaac decided to ignore the fact that it looked like an exact copy of Galadriel’s basin in _The Fellowship of the Ring._

“I think we’ll pass,” Liam anticipated for his friends.

“All three of you have been marked as dreamwalkers,” both priests chanted in unison. “You have been invited to the domain of Lord Hypnos.”

“But beware, Wolf Knight,” one of them stepped forward and pressed his palm on Isaac’s chest. “Your path here has been predestined, and it is not only the Old Gods of Earth who know about this.”

“Tell me something I don’t know already…” Isaac muttered. The two priests were freaking him out, but some force prevented him from moving.

“You are balancing on the edge of a blade,” the other said as he pulled a foot-long bronze dagger, as if to illustrate his point. The priest held it up for the three of them to see it glimmer in the unnaturally black in-between that contained them. “The God of the Thousand Masks has been trying to bring his physical body into the Dreamlands for aeons, but he shall not cross this threshold.”

“Nyarlathotep?” Stiles blurted as he stared at the dagger, feeling suddenly he had been played like a fiddle.

“Whatever he may try, it was long ago written that you would stand firm.”

“Like your ancestors before you,” the other priest finished the sentence.

“The True Alpha is a Champion of the Gods,” the first priest continued. “But you are his weapon in these lands.”

“Guys… I don’t like this,” Isaac timidly stepped back only to bump into Liam, who kept him from retreating further.

“This is all we know. This is all we can tell,” the priests announced.

“Shape shifters,” the first cleric said portentously. “These two keepsakes are yours to take,” the bearded man handed them two circular brass-and-silver brooches with the image of a howling wolf decorated in a mosaic of red and green glass.

“Victor of the Fox,” the other one bellowed.

Stiles grimaced. “Please, I’d rather not—“

“This dagger is your weapon and your token.”

“ _Oh?_ ”

The three friends were too busy looking at the objects they had been given by the priests to notice that time clicked back. They looked up to ask what those objects meant, but they were no longer in the threshold – they were on a mountain top, surrounded by a stormy sky, under the glitter of the Wolf Star.

***

Isaac looked down to see that he was wearing the same crisp and neat white shirt with a ruffed collar and the blue, padded cloth doublet he had worn in the Dreamlands when they were pursued by the zebra knight. In fact, Liam had the same black, sleeveless, leather jerkin with a loose red shirt and Stiles the cream coloured tunic. The only difference now was that he and Liam had their brooch sewn into their clothes.

“Why does Stiles get a knife and we get a pin?” Liam said looking down at their attire. “That’s _so_ unfair.”

Before Isaac could tell the other beta about that time when Scott gave him a shoe to track Jackson, he had looked up to notice the two figures standing in front of them, both of which were disturbingly familiar and out of place. The one on the right, he clocked immediately, because despite the weird cloak and robe attire, he was Coach Finstock. That was weird enough, and it would have rang all sorts of alarms had the person on the left not been his brother.

“ _Cam_?” his voice trembled slightly. Liam and Stiles stopped their argument mid-sentence to look at where Isaac had fixed his eyes. “Cam, it’s… is it you?”

Isaac felt his skin crawling and his limbs suddenly as heavy as lead. A ball formed in his stomach and crept up to his throat. The colour drained off his face and, without him being conscious about it, his cheeks ran with tears. Isaac could not move. His brother was there. Whether it was a joke of fate or a trick of Nyarlathotep, he did not care anymore. He had his brother back. Cam was _there_. Even if it was simply for a fraction of a second (and Isaac was ready to believe that this was simply a mirage), seeing him was worth all the nightmares. His brother had hardly changed from the day he left. His hair was still darker than his, and his eyes greener; although he now had a scruffy beard and Isaac was now taller than him.

Cantior ( _Cantior? No. I… I remember my name_ ) stood gobsmacked in disbelief as a golden light pierced through the furthest corner of his mind and let his memories back. His old _life_ back. In front of him was the outsider from the tavern, the one with the characteristic earlobe that had troubled his dreams and driven his life for the last years. But it was not a stranger – it was his brother. His little brother whom he cowardly left behind with a well-intended promise to come back after a couple of years with enough money for them to leave their father. Which he was going to do until the ambush in Afghanistan, when he was injured and hid behind a rock and then… and then he rolled back into a crevice and ended up in a cave.

“Zac?” Camden said after two silent seconds.

“Coach?” Stiles asked when he realised who the second person standing in front of them was.

“Christ, Bilinski, even I know when not to spoil a moment!”

The spell broke, but Isaac still could no put any of his emotions into words, his jaw flapping up and down without saying anything. There were too many questions going through his mind. _How come you’re not dead? What are you doing here? Did you really mean it when you said you would come back for me? Why did you have to go in the first place?_ He also felt nailed to the ground by the sheer weight of his memories – memories that he had locked away for years. He and Cam walking to school together. He and Cam fighting over the last scoop of chocolate ice-cream. He and Cam playing with Jackson in the pool. He and Cam waiting in a hospital corridor. Isaac hiding his brother’s dog tags after their father passed out on the day they got them back in an envelope with an official letter.

Isaac fell on his knees, incapable of holding the weight of the reveal any longer. Cam ran towards his brother and kneeled beside him, bringing him into a hug that Isaac returned eagerly. Both brothers cried into each other’s shoulders sobbing ‘I missed you’s until Isaac felt drained enough to push away and speak.

“Why? I mean, how are you here?”

“I’ve been given a second chance,” Cam answered as if that was all the explanation his brother needed, suddenly the prophecies and the half revelations clicking into place.

“Coach, is this all a dream?” Liam asked, and Cam and Isaac suddenly became aware that they were not on their own.

“Guys, this is my brother,” Isaac beamed as he dried his eye with one hand and kept the other half-hugging his brother. “Cam, these are my friends, Liam and Stiles.”

“Yes, we all know who we are,” Coach said as he approached.

“Wait, are those yours?” Cam asked before Stiles or Liam could say a word, pointing at something behind the three new arrivals.

“What are you—ohmy,” Stiles jumped as he turned around only to see two massive wolves with glowing gold eyes standing right behind them.

“ _Werewolves_ ,” Coach rolled his eyes. “I knew it.”

“Coach, not to be rude, but: what are you doing here and how do you know?” Stiles asked as one of the wolves approached and nuzzled Liam while the other made a beeline for Isaac. Isaac looked into the eyes of the giant wolf and _knew_ that was Inner Wolf given form. He saw Coach talking to Stiles and Liam, so he walked a bit away to talk to his brother.

“So you’re a werewolf?” Cam chuckled.

“Yeah, well… Lots have happened since you left,” Isaac nodded with a sad smile. His Wolf was still reading his feelings, because he brought his large and fluffy head to Isaac’s face and nuzzled him for comfort as he had done many times before.

“Dad was bad when you left, but he got worse when you… When you died,” Isaac admitted, not meeting his brother’s eyes and mindlessly combing his fingers through his wolf’s coat. “He drank so often that he was kicked from his job at school. He took up a new job managing the cemetery and I had to work there and…” Isaac took a deep breath and stopped. His brother bit his lip and looked down at the floor, because he knew what was coming. “Cam, you _left_ me. You were my brother. You knew our dad!”

Isaac was not angry, even if his tone was bitter. He just wanted an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” Cam said before Isaac could say anything about the insults or the beatings or the punches or the freezer. He knew so much from personal experience while he still lived in Beacon Hills and from what Isaac had told him while he was in Afghanistan. “I had a plan, I promise. But I needed— _we_ needed money, and you were always his little boy. I thought maybe he would not be that bad—“

“Cam, you were the star swimmer and the A student. When you left you turned his world even more upside down! You became the ungrateful son and I… I became the cause of mum’s death.”

“Zac, don’t you dare believe that for a second,” Cam held his brother’s shoulders and made sure they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“I know… but it was getting worse and worse and then one night Derek came to me with an offer.”

“Derek? Derek _Hale_ as in Laura’s little brother? The basketball meathead from school? He’s also a werewolf?”

Isaac chuckled and looked up at his brother with a smile. Behind them Stiles and Liam were in a heated discussion with Coach, but Isaac had enough time to tell his brother everything that had happened since Derek bit him: the kanima malarkey, the darach, the nogitsune, his life in France, the cultists, the mi-go, and his eventual return to Beacon Hills.

“Wait, wait. Hang on,” Camden stopped petting the giant wolf that was sat in between them to interrupt his brother as he told him about his flat in Davis. “Zac, you’ve got a _boyfriend_?”

Isaac froze. He had never had any problem telling anyone (it seemed anyways that, other than Scott, everyone else had known before he could tell them), but he had never had to tell his brother, and now he suddenly felt like a rabbit in headlights. But Cam was smiling, which sent waves of relief through his body.

“Please don’t say anything,” Isaac managed to say as his cheeks blushed. “I don’t want to know if you knew.”

“I think I will. Look at _you_!” Cam ruffled his brother’s hair. He had not done that in almost ten years. “I’m so happy for you. I really mean it, Zac. To be fair, I think I always—”

“Not a word, Cam. Not a word.”

Isaac was still blushing as his brother brought him into a hug. To be fair, Cam had been living in the Dreamlands for years, but Isaac had expected that the werewolf stuff would have been far more surprising than his love life.

“Hey, you two,” they heard the characteristic voice of Coach Finstock calling them over. “You can continue the reunion down in the hall. There are more things we need to discuss.”

***

“Coach, not to be rude, but: what are you doing here and how do you know?” Stiles asked as one of the wolves approached and nuzzled Liam. He saw Isaac and his brother scurrying away, which he guessed was to have a well-deserved quiet catch up.

“Okay, you two, I have a different question. What the hell took you so long?”

“Answering a question with another question?” Stiles smirked as he crossed his arms on his chest. Liam gave him a look that begged him to please not to do this with Coach. Stiles felt that was all the encouragement he needed. “That’s not good.”

“Listen, smartarse; this is my turf. You and your little friends up above do all this insane werewolf stuff and you get involved with cults and aliens and hunters,” Bobby Finstock listed with his fingers and Liam and Stiles suddenly felt that they needed to reconsider their opinion on Coach – he clearly knew far more than he showed. “But _here_ , this is my domain. I have been a dreamwalker for much longer than you. So I know more.”

“Then…. why don’t you answer my question?” Stiles pushed his luck.

Coach felt one of his eyes begin to tick, so he not-so-gently clobbered Stiles on the head with his staff for good measure.

“Okay, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, listen here,” he warned as Stiles rubbed his hurting scalp. “I don’t know what you were thinking about when you went on your little dream adventures up and down your cute tiny dream ring—“

“Is that what our loop is actually call— _Ouch_!” Liam received a tap on his head for interrupting.

“You were invited into the Dreamlands. You were given the keys! You should have come in ages ago!” Coach was clearly angry at them, even if they could not understand why.

“Well, Isaac did not want to go in. And he had the keys,” Liam said as an excuse.

That did not sound right, and Coach knew. “You never encountered a random figure in your dreams? A wise old man… or a familiar but out-of-place person explaining you this stuff?”

“No? You’re the only one who kept appearing every now and then.”

“I see…” Coach rubbed his chin as he thought.

“See, Coach, none of us knew anything about dreams or the Dreamlands. We thought it was weird. _And_ scary,” Stiles elaborated further. “We thought we were being taunted by… err…. well. _Someone_ ,” Stiles left Nyarlathotep’s name unsaid. “And Isaac? He was _terrified_ of what these dreams could mean while we were awake. He thought it had something to do with last year’s cult and Nyarlathotep!” Stiles blurted out, no caution this time. “Coach, he was scared shitless because he was being taunted by his dead brother!”

“Yes, that… That was not meant to happen either,” Coach muttered, still rubbing his chin.

“What do you mean ‘either’?”

Bobby Finstock cursed and pulled his hair as he mumbled something unintelligible, which did nothing to reassure either Liam or Stiles. They had entered the Land of Dreams but, obviously, something was fishy. Considering what was currently happening in Beacon Hills, this was worrying to say the least.

When he finally decided to speak, he gave them a short overview. He mentioned how he was a pilgrim, a member of a secret guild entrusted with the protection of the Dreamlands. He explained that normally people who are invited into the Dreamlands are so because they have an innate predisposition to have imaginative dreams, and that other than the keys they should have been visited by a guiding figure, who would have explained them what all was about. It was obvious that they had not encountered such a figure, which meant that someone was interfering with the normal running of the oneiric realm, but he was very glad that they had finally entered into the Dreamlands. Stiles and Liam listened to all this without interrupting, fearing (as they truly feared), Coach’s unnatural accuracy with his walking staff of doom.

Coach then went on to explain how Camden and Isaac had a prophesised destiny they had to fulfil.

“Listen, long ago, and far before our time, the oracle already announced that the Laheys would have their little moment down here. In fact, Camden was saved from a premature death so he could play his part.”

“You mean in Afghanistan?” Stiles asked for clarification. “Because I’m not sure if you’re implying that he died _too early_ because he was young or _too early_ because—“

“He was not meant to die in Afghanistan at all!” Finstock said through gritted teeth and looked around with suspicion. He could only see puddles and hilltop shrubs. “I mean… These things happen; the margins of prophecies are not set in stone, but he had a role to play back in Beacon Hills. And it didn’t happen!”

“Coach, this is getting too complicated for me,” Liam scrunched his face as he tried to put everything together. His wolf rested his enormous head on Liam’s shoulder and whined in an odd lupine form of support. “What is it that Isaac and his brother are meant to be doing?” he asked when he opened his eyes again.

“I better not tell you here… We’re going to need some more privacy.”

Liam and Stiles looked at each other quizzically, but Coach had turned around before they could object.

“Hey, you two,” Coach yelled. “You can continue the reunion down in the hall. There are more things we need to discuss.”

***

Cam looked at his old high school teacher (who had been pestering him in the Dreamlands for as long as he had been there) and nodded with a smile. His brother beamed at him and went off to talk to his two friends with his massive wolf softly trotting behind him with a waggly tail. Cam was about to follow when he looked back at the tower. He put his hands on his hips and whistled. All his trips and travels, all his grieving and accepting, had culminated at that tower where he had been waiting for weeks.

And now it was all over.

Cam walked slowly towards the tower door with its sculpted arch and its finely carved silver gate. Something was pulling him towards it. If his brother had come through the door, surely he could leave through it? But it was not that – there was something _else_. An echoing voice inside his head whispering something so quietly that Cam could barely hear it. He only noticed that the closer he got to the door, the louder and clearer it was. Everything else around him disappeared: his shack, Coach, his brother, his friends. It was all about the door – it was all about the tower.

When he reached the door he could see that inside it was pitch black, but that a silver moon-like light shone from high above, barely outlining the shape of a spiral staircase. Had Isaac come down a staircase as he had done?

The whisper became finally audible when Cam leant against the doorframe.

 _Don’t let it close. Keep the door open_.

Those two sentences revolved in his head, faster and faster, muting everything else around him. Who wanted him to keep the door open? Cam felt a loose cobble at his feet and pushed it gently into the threshold, although he was not sure why he was doing that. He was about to push the door but a firm hand landed on his shoulder, and snapped him back from his trance.

“Cantior,” Coach addressed him with his Dreamlands name. He was forcing a smile, but it was clear that he was not happy. “It’s better if we keep the door shut.”

“What door?” Cam was not sure he understood properly, until he realised that he was actually keeping the door of the Moon Tower open. “Oh, sure?”

“That’s my boy,” Coach sighed in relief as he made sure that Cam’s hand was off the door and pulled him gently away. Coach pushed the door behind him and led Camden towards the path that would take them to the village where the Pilgrims’ Guildhall was.

Behind them, the bolt fell with a satisfying thunk. But the bolt had not shut properly. The cobble that Cam had involuntarily shoved into the threshold had left the door ajar.

When the Beacon Hills Dreamlands team had walked far away from the tower, a figure wearing a grey hooded cloak and carrying a big old book bound in human skin pushed the door open. As she stepped firmly and physically into the dreamlands, she looked up to see the Wolf Star shining high in the sky, the signal her Lord and Master had told her would mark that the time was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter and Cam meeting Isaac!


	22. The last cultist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once at the top, the last cultist walked across the gravel path and the viewing platform, over the chain that surrounded the archaeological monument, and through the archway with its crumbled coat of arms.
> 
> OR: Seeing the most recent developments at the hospital, the last cultists puts her plan in motion

Nurse Walker had a quick and discreet read of the paperwork Melissa had given her before filing it away. She had seen the Lahey boy bringing the patient in (a woman whose attire was so out of place that she had to be a time traveller) earlier that day, and she was curious to read what the report said. _Bottle injury…_ she snorted to herself. Only doctors in Beacon Hills would be happy to call that injury a bottle wound. To be fair, it was the same principle elsewhere in town: only in Beacon Hills was the Sheriff happy to have the highest animal attack rate that side of Alaska, and only in Beacon Hills could the town council easily dismiss the aborted cultic invocation of the previous summer when the State troopers came poking around. The people in Beacon Hills had learnt the hard way to internalise these events as part of their local normal.

Of course, Susan, as the last surviving member of the cult of Yuggoth, knew better.

The arrival of the time travellers could only mean that the Hound had arrived too, just as predicted. This meant that the werewolves would be distracted with that and would pay little attention to her cloak and dagger activities. It was a pity that it all had to wait ‘til the evening, but she could play the waiting game.

During the rest of her day, nurse Walker displayed her usual façade, pretending to live the normal life of a nurse. She had her morning break in the staff room and drank with a smile that disgusting tea the hospital provided. She listened to her colleagues’ chitchat for a while and returned to her desk, only to see Melissa’s son and his pack of shape shifters dash away with the time traveller. ( _As if that would make any difference!_ ) She sat with nurse Ramirez for lunch, and endured the long afternoon shift with her usual mask of content, pretending that the lives and deaths of the people around her mattered in the great scheme of things. They were all doomed, but they did not need to know.

Thankfully, the day had finally come. That night she would prepare her things and vanish from this condemned existence to prepare the arrival of her Master. Doom was only a few sleeps away, and she could only hope to be the first to go when it came, so she would not have to see the world succumb into oblivion.

When five o’clock came, she gathered her stuff, said goodbye to her colleagues, and even thanked Dr Cleary for his insipid walnut cake with a calculated mask of mirth. Sometimes she prayed to the Outer God for Dr Cleary to be the last person standing, on cursed Earth, so he may live through the end of time and witness his reality disappear.

Once she got home, she made sure that the door was locked and the curtains shut. She then put her television loud with the same unnerving quiz show she pretended to watch every evening to muffle her noises. Once she was sure that nothing out of the ordinary would disturb her, she looked for the tiny tab concealed at the edge of the carpet and pulled it off the floor, revealing the rust-stained wooden boards. From a hidden compartment in the back of her sofa, she pulled out her most precious possession, the copy of the _Unaussprechlichen Kulten_ that had been stolen from the University Library in Oxford and retrieved from the desecrated remains of the cult’s sanctuary in the Beacon Hills preserve.

With a stick of chalk she began to draw runes around a pentagram on the floorboards, copying the motifs from the book as she muttered something in the forgotten language of the Hyperboreans. When the sigils were ready, Susan searched for her meteorite-steel cannula, plunged it into the inside of her elbow, and let her blood flow onto the symbols on the floor. In a few seconds she felt woozy enough to pull the thin metal tube out, wrap the wound tightly, and pass out on the floor. She had a lot to do in her dreams that night.

***

Susan Walker had only lived in Beacon Hills for a couple of years, but the day she moved there, she did so with the clear mission to become a nurse in the hospital.

From a young age, Susan learnt from her parents the painful truths of the universe; how the mirage we perceived was an empty husk, that the human attempts to understand the cosmos were insignificant, and that it was futile and dangerous to resist against the outer powers. This was easy enough for her to understand in the isolated corner of the bayou the Walkers called home; a place where not all the things that crept and swam through the brackish waters were alligators or snakes, and not all of the lights that glowed in the swamp were will-o’-wisps. Because the ignorant crowds who lived in town had difficulties accepting these truths, Susan had to learn how to fit in with the blissfully ignorant masses; how to pretend to live a normal life.

It was during her teenage years that Susan discovered that she could dream, which her parents counted as a blessing. While most people had dreams, she could actively dream and make things happen in those dreams. She soon became a dream walker, and she spent years perfecting her abilities in the oneiric dimension. Whenever she would tell her parents about what she had dreamed the previous night, her father would bring her in a hug and kiss her hair, and whisper with pride that she was a very special girl blessed by the Outer Gods. One of those mornings, she announced that she had seen the way to Nyarlathotep, and that she wanted to be involved in the end of days; her parents could not have been happier.

Her quiet life changed dramatically the day her family was forced to flee their home after their circle of true believers was busted by the Texas rangers with allegations of murder, kidnapping, and bloody rituals. While only half of that was true, it was true enough, so her father decided to take the family to the furthest corner of Vermont. He knew there had been mi-go activity in the past in that wooded and hilly country, and he knew that they would be welcomed by like-minded people. It was there that they met Dianne Barret, the woman who would become the High priestess of the Beacon Hills cult.

Dianne had been cultivating the relationship between her group and the local mi-go ever since the guardians of the local nemeton where whipped out by rogue, fanatic hunters. She had a great plan to establish an alliance between the alien monsters and their close group of believers, imitating the treaty the mi-go had with a small village in France and that, according to her calculations, was about to expire. For Susan, this became a perfect opportunity to achieve her teenage dream, and do something good for humanity, even if it was only one village at a time.

When Dianne told Susan about the upcoming alignment of the stars and the possibility of establishing a true connection with the mi-go in California, Susan volunteered to go to Beacon Hills first. During her first months there, she laid low, discreetly looking for people interested in the supernatural, only to find that the entire population had an inkling about something fundamentally wrong about their town. From old archives (the Barret’s had originally lived in Beacon Hills many years ago), she found out about the presence of werewolves and the leading role of the Hale family. Of course, this information later turned out to be misleading, but until then, Susan kept an eye on the three remaining Hales while she established the basis for the cult. Months later, when Barret arrived to Beacon Hills to take over the new State Park, the cult had already contacted their Lord and Master Nyarlathotep.

By the time they realised that there were more werewolves than the Hales, Scott McCall had already thwarted their summoning at the nemeton. The actions of the True Alpha showed that the stars were not right for the mi-go, and the lycanthropes won the day. The cult disbanded, Dianne disappeared never to be seen again, and those willing cultists that did not die the night of the reckoning, were now in jail. That is, all but Susan: the night before, Nyarlathotep revealed to her that the God of the Thousand Masks had a plan that concerned only her – a plan that involved not only a sleepy town in California, but a plan that could rid all of humanity of their pitiful existence. Susan woke up with an ecstatic grin on her face. The moment Dianne left the office to begin the rituals at the nemeton, Susan sneaked into the building to retrieve the _Nameless Cults_ , but the werewolves beat her to it, so she had to hide and wait until Lahey dropped it. Later that night, when the coast was clear, she picked the trampled and tattered book up and ran into the darkness.

She spent the following year preparing for the day when the time travellers would arrive in Beacon Hills, but she did not mind the wait. She endured many tormented dreams and read forbidden texts until her eyes bled in order to comprehend the rough outline of Nyarlathotep’s timeless plan to bring his sleeping master (the amorphous blight of nethermost confusion, the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth) to Earth. Azathoth, the corrupted chaos that ruled the primordial emptiness, could only _dream_ about Earth, which infuriated him. Nyarlathotep, his obedient minion, needed to open a gateway to wake him up so he could _see_ his lowly creation and put an end to it. The plan was that, if Susan could enter into the Dreamlands and summon Nyarlathotep there, then he would make his way into the consciousness of all the dream walkers that had ever existed and, through them, open a portal into the dreamy bowels of Earth for his Master.

The main problem was that, for this to happen, Susan had to enter physically into the Dreamlands with the _Nameless Cults_ , which meant that she needed to find an active portal that would link both worlds. Beacon Hills had always had one point of access, marking the location where the ley lines first overlapped before the current nemeton came to be, but that gateway was inactive. The only way to activate it was to have new dreamwalkers access the Dreamlands through it, for they would have to cross the door in their sleep, and this would open also the physical barrier. Nyarlathotep had foreseen aeons before that the Wolf Knight would raise to become a dreamwalker, but he also knew that the Wolf Knight could ruin his plan. Humans had, annoyingly, free will to choose sides. To make things worse, the Gods of Earth, inept and imbeciles as they were, tended to get in the way too. All this meant that, for the master plan to work, Susan had to keep Isaac from entering the Dreamlands.

For the last weeks she had been secretly and subtly tormenting Isaac and his friends in their dream ring. She had to do this discreetly because Susan knew that Isaac knew her: he had seen her often enough in the hospital. If Isaac caught her sabotaging his dreams, there was a significant chance that she would face a lot of trouble while awake, and she had no time to be dealing with werewolves. She made sure that they never met any of the priests of Hypnos that were meant to help and guide them into the Dreamlands.

Of course, telling the amnesiac outsider marked by fate the name of his forgotten brother and leading him to the Moon Tower had been much easier. She had a few encounters with the Oneiric Pilgrims in a few occasions while doing so (those pesky pilgrims were always keeping a close eye on him), but it was always fun to tease them with a fight and make them think that they were actually making a difference. Overall, manipulating Cantior in the Dreamlands had paid out, and Isaac had freaked out when he recognised his brother’s voice, to the point of rejecting the mere thought of the Black Gates.

For the last couple of nights she had focused all her efforts into dissuading the other two from approaching the gates. Susan tried to shut their dream ring by hunting them down and collapsing the edges of their shared dream (which had been exhausting and draining), but only with partial success; Dr Geyer’s son and the other one were far too stubborn.

That night, however, with the Hound loose in Beacon Hills and the Wolf Star about to rise, the time had come to deploy all of her power and to complete her mission. That night she would retrieve the keys from the Lahey boy and open the gate herself.

***

As she passed out and fell asleep, the runes and marks of the Great Gods gave her enough power to direct her oneiric self to the dreaming subconscious of Liam. Dr Geyer’s son’s dreams were always the easiest to sneak into. It did not take her much to navigate herself to the dream ring where the Sheriff’s kid was waiting for him.

They were in what she guessed was their old school library, surrounded by muted students with their noses glued to books. Susan hid in the shadows as she eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Do you think he’s going to do it?” asked Liam, who was sitting on a table, dangling his legs nervously over the edge.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “We asked him, and explained everything. I really don’t know why he wouldn’t. It’s _his_ brother that’s trapped in there! He’s bound to want to find him?”

“To be fair, Stiles, that is actually quite creepy, and I’m not sure you’re right.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to you—there’s nothing wrong. There can’t be. The Dreamlands are safe!”

“What is his brother doing there, Stiles?”

“I- I- I don’t know? That’s not the point!”

“It’s bad enough that I am going along with your crazy idea because I really want to see the Dreamlands. It sounds cool. But you cannot expect Isaac to be tortured like that by we-know-who and really want to follow your stupid plan.”

“It’s our stupid plan now, snappy-wolf. And I told you, it cannot be _him_ ,” Stiles added with unfounded certainty. Susan felt a warm feeling of success creeping through her chest, and could not avoid her lips half-curling into a smirk.

“Let’s go and see if we can find those gates again,” Liam huffed as he jumped from the table, refusing to acknowledge Stiles’ last comment.

Susan followed the two dreamwalkers out of the school, and to a sports field and, from there, into a path that ran through a dense jungle. After a while of infuriatingly inane conversation, Susan was ready to kill the two of them there and then, but she felt a change in the surroundings and knew that Isaac had also entered the dream ring.

Stiles and Liam seemed to also notice, although it was more likely that they naturally knew than that they had really felt the small disturbance in their surroundings. Now that the three packmates were in, it was time for her to begin her job. On the floor of the jungle, Susan carved with her curved dagger the same runes and symbols she had drawn on her floorboards, and immediately felt the energy channelling into her. With one incantation, she called for the surrounding abyss to break through the dream barrier and soon enough the sky turned a dark hue of purplish-yellow and the very foundations of the dream began to crumble. Next she summoned to her as many ghasts as she could. The clawed and long-legged slimy humanoids that dwelled in the forgotten caves of the Dreamlands were known to dislike the Gods of Earth, so they were willing collaborators in her scheme.

The cultist instructed the leader of the ghasts (a foul creature with sharp teeth, a nose-less face, and a mouth still dripping in blood from its last meal), to accost and harass the dreamers to the edge of the forest while she went off to look for Isaac. Locating him was easy enough, but she had never expected that little twerp Liam to dream a revenant _again_. With that memory-turned-person helping Isaac, it was going to be more difficult for her to snatch the keys off of him, but not impossible. Susan called a few ghasts to her and began to close a circle around the two werewolves.

“Stop philosophising and let’s get moving,” she heard Isaac say.

“You have to get to Stiles and Liam. You’re the one with the keys. I’ll get you some extra time,” Brett replied.

Before the ghasts could jump on Isaac he had already scurried away in the jungle, leaving only the memory of Brett behind.

Susan cursed, but this was only a minor setback, and the fight with the revenant was short. Before the ghasts had finished shredding the memory of the werewolf to pieces, she was already channelling all her strength into imposing her own dream into their surroundings, crumbling the jungle and accelerating the advance of the abyss.

Eventually she saw that the three dreamwalkers had reunited at last, and that Isaac had changed his mind and decided to go for the Dreamlands, but the day was not lost. The dream ring was already crumbling. The three were cornered between the vanishing jungle and the cinders of their dreamed world. She might have to step out and fight them herself for the keys, but by the time they were awake and could do anything about her, she would have already activated the Dreamland gate and be half way down the spiral staircase.

What she had never expected was the arrival of three silent flying nightgaunts.

“No-no- _NOOO_!”

Susan yelled as she ran out of the tree cover to the place where the deep-black horned creatures were tickling the three dreamwalkers into submission. But by the time she was close enough to do something (anything) about it, the dreamwalkers were being carried away by the faceless silent creatures, most likely flying them to the Black Gates.

Susan cursed and swore. Her hands trembled in rage. Just when everything was falling into place those hideous, leathery creatures, servants of Nodens, had taken away her chance to obtain the keys! If the Gods of Earth had interfered it meant that they were suspicious. This could put the plan at risk, and Susan’s Master did not take failure kindly.

Except, that this was not a total failure – not _yet_. Isaac had the keys and he was going to enter the Dreamlands, but that still meant that the gate would be opened regardless. By doing so, he would inadvertently activate the portal for her. She _still_ had a chance to enter physically into the Dreamlands and carry out the summoning! But she needed to act fast. She needed to get to the old Spanish tower near the Sleepers’ cave and race down the steps. She needed to gather her stuff, the book and the ritual dagger. But before any of that, she had to wake up.

***

It was dark in her apartment when Susan forced herself to wake up. She still felt slightly light-headed, but she had no time to lose. It was half-past two; if everything went according to plan she should be in the tower before four. On the floor, her pool of blood had mixed with the chalk drawings and formed a bubbly crust, which had burned into oxidised blue and black patterns on the wooden boards. Unceremoniously she threw a plastic cover on it and rolled the carpet over before pushing the sofa over the slight bump that remained.

Susan repeated in a low voice the list of things she was going to need, like a calming mantra that helped her focus. She threw the dagger and the book, together with other bits and pieces into her backpack, and sneaked out of her house, hoping not to draw too much attention from any neighbour that happened to be up at that tempestuous hour.

She drove out of town, and headed towards the northwest, following the pre-planned route down the residential areas and back streets that took her to the foot of the hills. She parked her car at the dead end of a dirt track and from there she began her hike up the hill. Her first obstacle was a plastic warning tape which indicated that the area around the Cave of the Seven Sleepers was closed off by order of the Sheriff, which made Susan shake her head, as if a yellow tape was going to stop a Tindalos Hound… After walking under the tape, Susan continued her walk, stopping only in mid-slope when she could finally see the old crumbling tower up above, dimly lit by the urban glow that emanated from Beacon Hills.

Once at the top, the last cultist walked across the gravel path and the viewing platform, over the chain that surrounded the archaeological monument, and through the archway with its crumbled coat of arms. The inside of the tower was apparently empty, as all the debris had been long cleared when the site was turned into a very minor tourist attraction, but for her trained eyes, and under the starlight that came through the roofless top, Susan caught a glimpse of a trap door in the corner of her eye. She closed her eyes and imagined the heavy ring that was attached to the door, feeling a delirious sensation of triumph when her hands _felt_ the cold iron. Without a second thought she pulled, and a gust of cold air almost blew her back.

In front of her she could now see an access point to a never-ending spiral staircase that went down into the hill and beyond. With a silent murmur requesting Nyarlathotep’s guidance, Susan stepped into the trap door and began her descent down the stone steps.

All reason told her that the stairwell was completely dark, and yet there was light down there, even after ten minutes of descent into the deepest edge of the Earth. A silver glow illuminated the edge of the steps and the bottom of the pit. Susan eventually lost track of time. Her legs hurt and she was beginning to lose faith when the steps abruptly came to an end. She was in a small vaulted chamber now, not long enough to be considered a corridor, and built all in stone. At the far end she could see a door that had been left ajar, with a cobblestone wedged at the threshold.

With a manic grin and crazy wide eyes, Susan approached the door, and pushed it open.


	23. The eve of destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was coming, but they could not see it. So Liam ducked, and a fraction of a second later came a low-pitch rumble followed by two heavy talons clawing the soil where he had stood. With a whoomph, the creature took off. Liam cried out in alarm as he rolled on his back and his wolf rushed to protect him.
> 
> OR: Isaac, Stiles and Liam learn more truths about the Dreamlands than they are ready for

Isaac looked around the hall. Getting in had been interesting enough, with Coach touching a rune on the great wooden door only for a small secret side entrance to open, as if he had used a key card. The side entrance led them to a narrow stone staircase down to a high-ceiling, stone-vaulted masonry room. There were wooden partitions on either side of the fireplace: bunk beds and cots to the left and some sort of storage and weapons room to the right. Around the fire, which had a bubbling cauldron and a roasting spit, there were two low stone benches, covered in thick blankets and pillows. It was a crossing halfway between the Roman ruins he had visited while he was in France and something out of Skyrim.

Isaac was the first to sit on one of the benches, but Stiles was the first one to get his hand smacked by Coach after he reached out to touch one of the swords that hung from the wall.

“Keep your dirty mitts off those, Bilinski,” Coach snapped as Stiles quickly withdrew his hand. “Okay, you lot, sit down.”

“Are you going to tell us what all this is about?” Liam asked while his wolf sniffled around the hall.

“And why are you two using those random names?” Isaac pointed at his brother and Coach, his own wolf lying placidly in front of the fireplace with a lazy waggle of his tail.

“Yes. Fine. I am. So… many things. Many things…” Coach seemed as if he was slowly regressing back to teacher mode, which gave Isaac and Stiles an unsettling sensation of déjà-vu.

“Is this going to be in any particular order and should I take notes?” Stiles asked. He immediately regretted it, because Coach was still holding his staff, which came swiftly and unexpectedly down on Stiles’s head.

“Okay, okay. Names – no. Do _not_ use your real names in the Dreamlands. It’s dangerous. Rule number one.”

“What, are you worried that we are going to be catfished?” Stiles asked with a smug tone, even if he was still rubbing his head. “We’ve grown up with the internet, Coach. We unders—OUCH! Can you please _stop_ whacking people with that stick!?”

“This is not about catfishing, Stiles,” Coach threatened in a dead serious tone. “This is about undesirable beings getting access to your deep subconscious and what for all intents and purposes you can call your ‘soul’,” he added as he both pointed a very accusing finger at Stiles and marked air quotes. “You need to find new name.”

“Coach here is Taliesin,” Cam curiously peeked into the cauldron. “I am Cantior,” he added while shutting the lid.

“Why did you choose Taliesin?” Liam asked.

“I saw it on a packet of cereal,” Coach quickly dismissed the impertinent question. “So you better start thinking of new names. Also—“

“What were those creatures that flew us in?” Liam interrupted with a raised hand.

“The what again?”

Isaac explained about their last dream, from the moment they arrived in the jungle, to the collapsing of the dream, to the arrival of the silent, faceless, black creatures.

“Nightgaunts…” Bobby muttered. Stiles turned around when he heard the unknown name, paying Coach more attention than he had ever done during his high school career. “They are mindless servants of the Gods of Earth. Eerily silent. They tickled you and dragged you here, didn’t they?”

The blond werewolf nodded as he explained further: “They flew us down to an empty room full of columns, at the end of which was the gate. Not that it was easy getting there.”

“Yeah, you said… But none of this makes _sense_ … Dreams cannot just collapse like that. That can only happen if someone forces it shut, and there was someone trying to keep you out. And nightgaunts cannot leave the Dreamlands! Unless… if the nightgaunts came for you it means they were _sent_ ; which means that someone else is very invested in you coming here.”

Bobby Finstock raked his hair through his fingers, leaving random tufts standing upright.

“I do not doubt what you’re saying, but how do you know about this all?” Liam asked what his two other friends were wondering.

Bobby Finstock pinched his nose and took a deep breath before answering: “I am part of a secret brotherhood that protects the Dreamlands.”

“Oh!” Isaac raised an eyebrow and interrupted, to everyone’s surprise. “I know about you!” he concluded with an infuriatingly smug grin. “The pilgrims, right?”

All eyes turned around to look at Isaac.

“What?” he said with all his nonchalance while petting his wolf. He would have looked at his nails while swirling a tumbler of whiskey had he had the chance for extra dramatics.

“You knew? And you did not think about sharing this vital information?” Stiles demanded, although clearly refraining from saying something uncalled for and rude. His eye was twitching.

“I only know about this old Argent couplet: _Où les Argent ne rêvent, les pèlerins prennent la relève_.”

“Ha! You’re kidding me, Lahey?” Coach cackled. “You are pulling my leg. You are, aren’t you?” he cackled again, but his laughter died when he saw Isaac’s dead-serious face. “No, you’re not… you’re being _serious_. An Argent? I- I- I thought you were a werewolf?”

“Can we not get side-tracked by Isaac’s complex allegiance system?” Stiles jumped up and pointed at Coach and stopped Cam from asking any follow-up questions. “You were going to tell us what you know and that you’re part of some dream jedi order!”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Coach nodded, but pointed at Isaac and nailed him with a glare that clearly expected some more explanations later. He looked at the four pairs of expecting eyes staring at him, and he explained.

In his own convoluted and overly-emphatic way, Bobby stated the facts that he knew in sequence, and sprinkled them with his preliminary guesses based on the information that Stiles, Isaac, and Liam had shared. His captive audience eventually learnt that many (many) years ago it had been foreseen that a moment would come when the Dreamlands would be in danger. With the usual ambivalence of oracles, the prophecy mentioned that this would happen because of the arrival of the Wolf Knight, descendant of a line of heroes, who _also_ had the power to stop the Outer God from entering. (Cam was very impressed when he learnt both that he and his brother came from a noble line of Hiberno-Welsh werewolf knights _and_ that he could become a werewolf himself.) There was also a promise by the Gods of Earth that the Wolf Knight would be allowed to bring his kinsman back with him after fulfilling his mission. The fact that someone had been actively trying to sabotage their dreams fitted with the actions of that witch that had been tormenting Cam. Coach had to admit that he did not know who this woman was, but she was certainly aligned with the Nyarlathotep. The plus side was that the Gods of Earth had reached out and helped Isaac.

“Although it is unclear what that means for all of us here,” Coach concluded.

“What does Nyarlathotep want to do _here_?” Liam asked, still feeling uncomfortable when mentioning the name aloud.

“But he can’t enter, right?” Stiles interrupted. He was suddenly feeling dizzy, as one of his most firmly held beliefs shattered. “He _can’t_. This is a safe space. He- he- he is not allowed here!”

“When has that stopped anyone?” Isaac spat back. His knee was bouncing with pure nerves, and his wolf mirrored his apprehension with flustered whimpers as he nuzzled his head against Isaac’s and Cam’s legs seeking reassurance and comfort.

“Oh, no, Lahey, calm down,” Coach smiled soothingly, although his eyes were wildly wide open – he had seen that expression on Isaac before.

“How am I going to calm down?” Isaac stood up. “We are talking about the same fucking god that was meddling with my head last year! You remember, him? The one who fucked around with Stiles’s head? The same one who thought it was funny when we nearly died trying to stop a cult around the nemeton? And _I_ am meant to stop him? I- I- I’m not Scott!”

Isaac went on ranting, venting his fear and frustration as Liam and Coach tried to calm him down. Cam did not understand much of what was going on, but he could not see his brother upset like that, and tried to help. Stiles, meanwhile, bobbed his head and bit his fingernails nervously, ignoring the ruckus around him until it faded away into a background buzz. Why had he pushed Isaac to enter the Dreamlands? How could they not have seen what it was? Why did he not listen to his friend? Was it too late? Had they really walked into a trap voluntarily? _Oh, God… What have I done?_ Fear and doubt crept from the pit of his stomach, through his chest, as the implications and ramifications of his earlier decisions became clearer, until the heavy sensation reached his throat, where it turned into a dark, cold, choking claw.

***

Susan took a deep breath once she stepped out of the tower. The smells and the sensations were far more intense now than what they had been when she had simply dreamed about being in this place. She had noticed that the clothes she had worn when she descended down the stairs had changed to something more adequate: tough cloth trousers instead of jeans, a padded tunic for her hoodie, and a leather satchel for her backpack. The _Nameless Cults_ had crossed the barrier without any modifications, and she could sense the power that irradiated from the codex bound in human skin.

She took her bearings and headed down the slope to the foot of the hill, where she carved a wide circle around her with half a pentagram inside. A few drops of her blood and a short incantation were enough to summon help. The Pilgrims were probably too busy now dealing with Melissa’s foster son and the other two dreamwalkers, but they would find her soon, so she needed to be far from there. She also needed help until she got to her final destination. After a few seconds of waiting, the furrow she had dug into the dry soil began to glow, and through the clouds came an unmistakable growl.

***

The argument in the Guild Hall continued as Isaac freaked out even more, feeling the weight of realisation crushing him down. Neither Finstock nor his brother could do anything to calm him down, while Liam had decided to take his packmate’s side and kept prodding his former teacher with questions. Stiles was oblivious of the discussion and the two very large growling wolves, absorbed as he was in his spiralling self-assessment.

The quarrel ended abruptly when the back door that lead to the stables opened. The characteristic neigh of a zebra echoed from the outer room, and all the heads in the hall turned to look at the armoured figure that was suddenly standing at the threshold.

“Shit, it’s _her_!” Liam was the first to react as he recognised the same zebra knight that had attacked them at the tavern.

Liam instinctively tried to growl, but instead of a werewolf growl, and to everyone’s surprise, he only managed a very unimpressive human snarl. But Liam’s wolf was immediately ready to jump and would have attacked the newcomer had Coach not stood in front of them with his hands up, demanding peace.

“Calm down everyone,” Coach said. “Easy there. Right, she is Olwyn. She is also an Oneiric Pilgrim. We are working together.”

Olwyn took off her helm to reveal a woman with her greying hair tied up in a bun. Her eyes were a pale blue, but they radiated a fierce strength. Two deep smile lines framed her small mouth, cutting through full cheeks. Had she not been wearing a mail shirt under her scarlet cloak and a broad sword hanging from her belt, Isaac could have sworn that she was—

“Excuse me, miss, but don’t I know you?” he had to ask as her face re-emerged from a blurry corner of his memory.

“You what?” Stiles demanded, feeling that every time Isaac opened his mouth the werewolf made a new revelation that did nothing but underline how much in the dark Stiles had really been.

“You have a remarkable memory,” Olwyn said as she held her helmet under her arm. “And Cantior, I am happy to see that you have finally found your brother. But Taliesin, I’m afraid that we need to get going,” she added without giving Isaac a real answer to his question.

Stiles would not let that drop so easily, though. “Wait- wait- wait- _wait_. How do you know Isaac? And why are you not attacking us now? In fact, just tell us how we got in here that first time when you wanted to kill us!”

“There’s no time for that,” Olwyn dismissed the question again. “I think this is very pertinent,” Isaac sided with Stiles.

“That first time,” Olwyn replied dryly, “you entered through a portal from your dream ring. Someone brought you in and I had to make sure you did not enter until you were worthy.”

“Okay, now you know” Coach silenced any further question. “Tell us, what’s happened?”

“I saw a byakhee swirling down from the hills,” she explained. Stiles immediately asked what a byakhee was, but the two Pilgrims ignored him. “There were traces of a summoning circle three miles to the northeast.

“Where was it going?” Coach was suddenly very serious.

“South,” was the short answer that meant nothing to Isaac or Liam. Stiles was still trying to imagine what a byakhee was.

“South? But then it’s going to…”

“It’s going to Irem,” Camden interrupted. He was the only other person in the room who could follow the discussion. “Irem is riddled with gugs. It does not make sense.”

Stiles heard another unknown creature being named and jumped again with a question which was also ignored.

“It’s her,” Olwyn deadpanned. “It has to be. Especially knowing whom she’s aligned with.”

“Is this the Nyarlathotep witch?” Liam surprised everyone with his quick deduction.

“How much have you told them?” Olwyn now pinned Coach with a question.

Coach Finstock gave only a very brief overview of what they had been discussing up to the point when Isaac realised what the stakes were and what was expected from him.

“Have you told them about werewolves?” she asked as she carefully inspected the two massive wolves that were sitting behind Liam and Isaac.

“What is there to know?” Isaac demanded, remembering that the first time they were in the Dreamlands his wolf-self had not been there.

“It can wait,” Olwyn decided. “Please, wait for us here while we inspect what’s going on with the byakhee.”

“No, no,” Liam raised his voice. “We are not staying here while that witch summons a whatever monster and prepares her ritual of doom.”

“You might be used to dealing with monsters and creatures around that cursed tree stump,” Coach spat. “But here things are very different.”

“Wait, you knew?” Stiles demanded. “You’ve always known? I _knew_ it! But then—”

“Don’t ask,” Coach cut him short. “It’s better if you don’t know. I prefer not to know… it makes my life simpler.”

“Then you know that we can fight,” Liam insisted.

“Where are your claws and your fangs then?” Coach jeered. Liam narrowed his eyes and began to growl, with the same pathetic result as earlier. His wolf looked puzzled at him, and Coach rolled his eyes theatrically. “Your wolf-self is that big puppy looking embarrassed. You’ve been fighting like a werewolf too long – you don’t know how to fight like a human, or how to do it alongside your wolf.”

“I learn fast,” Liam replied with defiance. “ _We_ learn fast.”

“Why don’t you give us one of those swords?” Stiles asked without concealing his enthusiasm.

“You’ll chop your fingers off,” Coach sighed – he knew what it was like to argue with Stiles. “You three are going to be in more danger out there than you can imagine.”

“Oh, so Cam is going?” Isaac said in what Cam thought was the same tone his brother had used when their mother said that only Cam could go to school and Isaac had to stay home.

“You haven’t told them about names?” Olwyn exclaimed with alarm.

“You clearly haven’t tried to teach anything to these three…”

Seeing that they really needed to get a move on and that Stiles, Liam and Isaac shared the same stubbornness, Coach and Olwyn eventually agreed that the three could accompany them, not without reluctance. After all, this was most likely the woman who had tried to destroy their shared dream space and that had been messing with Cam’s life in the Dreamlands. She was going to be dangerous, and numbers always helped.

Coach agreed to give them a few things from the armoury. Isaac knew how to use a crossbow, although the medieval-looking weapon he was given was very different from the ones the Argents had trained him to use. Stiles, despite his keen interest in swords, was only allowed to use a morning star, and only because he insisted that he knew his way around a baseball bat. Liam was disappointed when he was given a spiked gauntlet, but that was the weapon that was most similar to the claws with which he was used to fighting.

They did not have zebras for everyone to ride (and Stiles refused to get close to one anyways), so the party grabbed a few other essentials for a long travelling chase and left the Guild Hall.

On the way, Isaac, Liam, and Stiles had a chance to discuss and clarify a few things. They learnt more about their werewolf-selves, and how they became a separate being when they entered the Dreamlands. It took them a while, but eventually they found the natural emotional connection between them, which allowed them to sense their surroundings as their wolves. That was _weird_ , but surprisingly comforting, especially feeling the soft grass under their padded paws, or the sharp smells of grass and damp earth that saturated the air around them after the morning storm. They did not master their two-way communication, but at least they got a basic grip of how to function with a part of their selves living in a massive wolf.

By the time they reached the spot where the byakhee had been summoned, Liam, Isaac, and Stiles had already chosen their Dreamland names. ‘It’s like _Dungeons & Dragons_’ Stiles had insisted, which is why he chose his favourite half-orc character’s name, Durunar. Isaac felt more inclined to choose something hobbit-like and settled for Caradoc. Liam felt uninspired, and out of all of his friends’ suggestions, he chose Garrus because it was the ‘least dumb’.

Other than the traces of the invocation and a few footprints in the puddles there was not much for the party to identify, so they turned right and headed due south, towards the grasslands and the savannah that stretched from the Hills of Hap to the abandoned ruins above the cursed cave that had once been the city of Irem.

***

From the back of the byakhee, Susan had a perfect view of the savanna that extended before the sandy desert that engulfed Irem. There were herds of zebras and wildebeests, and the unmistakable rounded shapes of hippopotami basking in the sun by the river banks. She could even distinguish the distant fences and enclosures of those areas of the plains near the hills taken over by humans. She could also see that on the dirt track that covered the old processional road to Irem there was a group of people running with wolves.

For a second, she pondered her options. She could fly ahead and avoid her pursuers with ease, but the closer the Wolf Knight got to the underground altar, the higher the chances of him and his throng disturbing the ritual. Not that it was going to happen, but they could make her summoning more difficult if they got any closer. The best option was certainly to stop them there and then.

Susan dug her heels on the flanks of her flying servant creature, and directed it down with a gentle twist of her hips.

***

They lost no time, and the group was immediately at the double. The two Pilgrims led the way, with the rest following close behind, although Isaac and Liam’s wolves darted ahead every now and then, more because of pure excitement than out of real need to scout.

Stiles still had a thousand unanswered questions, so he walked shoulder to shoulder with Coach and Olwyn, although he only got one answer for every four queries. He was intrigued about alternative ways of entering the Dreamlands, especially because the sleepers had mentioned that, for the ritual they were planning, Isaac would have to enter physically.

“Something to do with his Wolf Star connection.”

The two Pilgrims stopped for a second and looked at each other and then at Stiles as they digested yet another revelation. When they remained staring at him in silence for more than a few seconds Stiles explained what the Seven Sleepers and the Hound of Tindalos had been up to. Olwyn and Coach listened carefully as they began to walk again. Eventually they gave Stiles a simple nod and a huff of acknowledgement but did not elaborate further. Stiles groaned, but that did not stop him from going on with his own theories of what it was all about. Eventually, and simply to make sure that Stiles would shut up for five minutes, Coach said that the Wolf Star might be marking the point when and where the limits between dimensions were close enough to send a Hound away. That, of course, also meant that they were close enough to bring an Outer God _in_.

“Oh…” Stiles felt weak at the knees, his stomach churned uncomfortably, and he could taste the bile creeping at the back of his throat. Guilt and panic with a hint of regret washed over him in waves for the second time that night.

“Yeah… _Oh_. So now shut up and keep walking.”

Isaac and Cam, meanwhile, had taken the march as a chance to chat and catch up, as both were very eager to know about each other. Cam grilled his little brother with questions about his new family, particularly Chris and Scott. Isaac said that he had already explained how he and Scott had met, but Cam pointed out that he had left out the very important fact that he had been pining for him for years. Isaac shoved his brother playfully (he would never admit it, but he missed his brother’s teasing), before recounting his relationship with Scott.

That left Liam walking on his own at the tail of their small party. He did not mind though, because it gave him time to admire the landscape of the Dreamlands and to explore his new relationship with his wolf self. It was only because he was exploring this link that he decided to duck.

He had felt his wolf’s fur spike and his ears stand up. Something was coming, but they could not see it. So Liam ducked, and a fraction of a second later came a low-pitch rumble followed by two heavy talons clawing the soil where he had stood. With a whoomph, the creature took off. Liam cried out in alarm as he rolled on his back and his wolf rushed to protect him. From his lying position he could see the creature flying in circles around them, clearly getting ready to attack again. It looked like a bear with ragged, leathery wings, although its back legs were longer and more powerful, with clearly visible talons and claws. The head was disproportionately large, with long rounded jaws like an alligator’s. The shape of the body, after a few more glimpses, had a disturbing resemblance to that of an ant.

“Byakhee!” a voice shouted before Liam could get back on his feet.

Coach’s distinctive voice cried next. “The witch cannot be that far! Stay close!”

The party huddled together as the byakhee circled around them. Isaac took a knee and aimed at the creature with his crossbow, but the flying monster dodged the bolt with ease. Olwyn put her helmet on and drew out her sword while Coach kept his eyes wandering over the horizon, expecting the witch to be lurking somewhere.

Stiles grabbed his weapon and held it up, ready to whack that flying beast the moment it came down. “Isaac, did you ever think that we’d end up in a live _D &D_ adventure?” he asked aloud.

“Being a werewolf was close enough to a live _D &D_ adventure for me,” Isaac grunted as he drew the crossbow string back to the nut.

They did not have any more time for witty remarks, for the byakhee immediately roared and nosedived into the huddle, forcing everyone either to throw themselves down on the floor or to roll away to avoid being mauled. Isaac managed to pull the trigger, but the bolt just flew off a tangent. Coach, surprisingly enough, managed to hit the byakhee with his staff, but the impact sent his weapon flying away. The monster flew off, only to make a wider turn and face them again.

“It’s coming again!”

“I can hit it!” Isaac sounded more confident than he felt. “I can hit it – just give me an unobstructed view when it comes for us.”

“You want to stand straight in its way?” Camden was not happy with the plan.

“You brother is right,” Stiles sided with Isaac for a change. “We just need to pin it on the ground. It’ll lose any advantage once it’s grounded.”

“That thing still has claws the size of your face,” Liam warned, but they did not have much more time for discussion, because the byakhee was soaring back at them.

Isaac struggled to arm the crossbow, but by the time the monster was soaring a few yards away, all the hard Argent training kicked in like muscle memory. He rolled on the floor, back flat against the ground, and aiming straight into the monstrous enemy. He reminded himself to open his eyes, and then pulled the trigger. By the time he heard the characteristic thump of the sinew against the wooden body of his weapon, Isaac’s eyes were closed again, but he felt the whoosh of air as the byakhee flew over his head and crashed behind him, carving a deep furrow into the ground.

“It’s down!”

Isaac rolled back on his knees and saw his brother, sword in hand, running towards the monster which was grounded, but most definitely not finished. The fear that tightened his stomach was immediately turned into an emotional signal that sent his wolf galloping towards Camden. Hot on his brother’s heels were also Olwyn, wielding her broadsword with both hands, and Stiles, who looked comparatively ridiculous yelling as he charged with what was, essentially, a bat with a spiked head.

The byakhee stood on its back legs roared like a cornered lion, and his call was challenged by the deep howl of the two giant wolves. Isaac immediately _sensed_ which was his wolf and which was Liam’s, simply by the different pitch and tone of their howl. Not that he could not recognise him by sight (his wolf had a dark grey back with reddish-brown belly, legs, snout and ears, plus a cream coloured scarf around his neck, while Liam’s was more on the white-grey end of the scale, and had a longer snout), but realising how finely tuned they were with each other was a confidence boost.

Both wolves leaped into the air with all the intention to bite at the creature’s neck, but the byakhee turned around with its wing extended, and the two wolves bounced back with a whimper. Isaac then saw his bolt deeply lodged into the monster’s shoulder.

Isaac pulled another bolt from his quiver and searched for his crossbow while Olwyn, Camden and Stiles circled around the byakhee, staying out of reach of its wings and even further away from its claws.

“Isa— _Caradoc_!” Stiles corrected himself. He did not want to say his friend’s name in front of a creature who could go back to its master and play with his packmate’s soul. “Pin it again!”

“And then what? You jump on it?” Isaac carefully took aim, but the byakhee was shifting and lunging at the enemies surrounding it.

“God, it must be a constant headache having an answer for everything, mustn’t it?” Stiles jumped back to avoid a sharp claw.

Isaac ignored his friend and pulled the trigger. The bolt hit the creature in the back.

It was not very clear if his crossbow was doing any real damage because the hide seemed very tough and thick, but the hit made the creature squirm for enough of a fraction of a second for the two wolves to jump and tear gashes through the leathery wings while the two pilgrims charged against its chest.

With its wings slashed, the monster firmly grounded, the fight took a different dynamic. The byakhee fell down on all fours, using its wings to protect itself and ready to lunge and maul with its fangs anything that came too close. Even with their cautious approach, the byakhee was a vicious fighter, and everyone had bleeding cuts and bruises.

Isaac had guessed that Coach must have been quite an athlete in his day (being, as he was, a failed sportsman that refused to acknowledge the fact), but he had never thought he could fight like that! His footwork was impeccable and swift, allowing him to dodge and feint with enough speed to whack with his staff. Olwyn had a completely different approach, closer to what he knew of monster slaying with swords from videogames: clever bashes and powerful slashes. Isaac was very surprised with his brother’s skill with the thin rapier. A duelling sword was probably not the best thing to face a monster that was taller and broader than him, but still his nifty lunges and cuts dug deep wounds. Stiles was the one who scared him the most, although once he got close enough to the byakhee to see its fangs, his friend stepped back and left the fight to the professionals.

Because Isaac kept shooting at the thing (and reloading that crossbow was not an easy task), he did not see Liam getting increasingly frustrated. Had he been awake, Liam would have been in the thick of it; now he had to do with standing back and yell at his wolf to attack and be careful. It did not take him long to have enough of that and, tightening his grip on the gauntlet, charge forward.

“Shit. Wait!” Isaac could not stop his packmate, who ran against the byakhee with a roar.

As Liam charged, so did his wolf. Each attacked from a different direction in unison, giving the byakhee time to confront only one of its attackers. In the split second that this happened, Bobby Finstock, Camden and Stiles all charged as well, although their faces showed masks of horror rather than frustrated determination. From the distance, Isaac saw all of this in slow motion. He saw his brother go sword first at the neck; he saw Stiles bat in a wide arc; he saw Coach trying to grab Liam’s collar to pull him back. Isaac felt his own wolf hesitate, torn by the urgent need to join in the fight and the crippling fear for Liam. Flashes of the oni surrounding him and Allison crossed his mind, and a sensation of dread took over him.

 _Shit_.

The next thing he saw was the byakhee collapsing to its knees with a bloody gurgle. Liam’s wolf had jumped on its shoulders and bitten deep into its neck. His brother and Stiles were covered in byakhee blood and gore from the injuries their weapons had inflicted. Isaac did not see Liam until he landed with a dull thump on the ground at his feet. He froze when he saw a very deep gouge in his friend’s chest and blood pooling around him.

“ _Fuck!_ Help! HELP!” Isaac knelt by Liam and held his hand.

Both wolves were first by his side, one feeling Isaac’s distress, and the other sensing Liam weakening. Both were whimpering and licking their respective human selves.

“Liam, listen—stay with me! You hear me?” Isaac grabbed his friend’s hand to try and drain the pain away, but nothing happened. “No- no- no- no!”

By the time the rest arrived around him, Isaac’s eyes were flooded with tears. He had a hand behind Liam’s head and the other firmly holding Liam’s hand. Liam managed to look at him and pull a smile, even if his eyes were screaming in fear and terror. Before he could say anything, Liam’s body went limp. Isaac did not notice Stiles kneeling by his side, or pulling him into a hug. He did not notice the two wolves howling either. But he _felt_ Liam’s body disappearing until his hands were clutching only air.

“What was th—”

But Stiles could not finish his sentence, because he suddenly vanished too. Isaac lifted his head simply to look at his brother, but before he could say anything to him, Isaac heard a desperate yell of fear inside his head, and everything went black.

***

Isaac woke up to Liam screaming his lungs out. In fact, the entire silo woke up to the werewolf’s yelling and crying. Ethan was the one closest to him, and he pulled him into his arms as he tried to calm him down, but Liam was completely out of it and tried to wriggle away: he had sat up and clawed his sleeping bag away, while his pillow was drenched in sweat. Scott had to gather all his alpha power to force him to calm down, to realise that it had only been a nightmare, and even that did not fully work.

“Liam, you’re safe! You’re with us. With the pack,” Ethan kept on whispering, but Liam could only hear his pulse beating loudly in his ears.

“Isaac! Stiles! ISAAC!”

Only when his two dream companions were by him did Liam calm enough to collapse into a sobbing pile.

“It’s okay, Liam,” Isaac said with a soothing voice, kneeling by his friend and resting a hand on his back. “We’re okay. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.”

***

“You did not tell them?” Olwyn asked coach as she punched his shoulder.

“When have I had time to explain!”

“So… have they just woken up?” Camden guessed.

“Give the man a beer,” Coach rolled his eyes.

Olwyn turned around to inspect their surroundings: a gently undulating grassland surrounded them in every direction, with the hills behind them and the gleaming sands of the desert ahead.

“Well, the byakhee is gone, but we still don’t know where that witch is. Although we know where she’s heading to. And it is going to be a long while until they go back to sleep.”

“What’s the plan then?” Camden asked eagerly.

Olwyn and Coach looked silently at each other as they pondered their options. “We keep going to Irem, keeping a distance from the witch and set up camp when it’s safe.”

“And then?”

Coach tapped the blood puddle where Liam had died with the end of his staff and sighed.

“Then we wait for your brother and his friends to come.”


	24. Just a phone call away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Liam died,” Isaac snorted, still trying to process the sight of his packmate bleeding out in his arms. Almost like Allison at his feet. “He fucking died in my arms, but it’s all okay now, so no biggie.”
> 
> OR: It's a very intense night for *all* of the pack, as the research teams also wake up to surprising developments of their own.

It took Liam a couple of minutes before he could calm down properly. Isaac sat by his side all that time, while Stiles stood and paced around him, looking concerned and scared in equal measure. If he was completely honest, Isaac was still in shock and his heart was racing in his chest, but Stiles was the one who looked positively ill, all colour drained from his face and nervously pulling at his hair.

Scott pulled Isaac up when Liam said that he was fine, and that he just needed some water. He took his boyfriend to a quiet part of the abandoned silo. “Babe, what was all that about? Did you get into the Dreamlands then? And what happened to Liam?”

“Liam _died_ ,” Isaac snorted, still trying to process the sight of his packmate bleeding out in his arms. _Almost like Allison_ _at his feet_. “He fucking died in my arms, but it’s all okay now, so no biggie.”

“Whoa, whoa, Isaac,” Scott put both hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders to keep him from walking away. “He didn’t die. You didn’t die. It was all a dream, right? You’re awake now.”

“You were not there,” Isaac shook Scott’s hands, but did not walk away – he just looked over at Liam, who was very definitely not dead. “There was this flying monster that attacked us, and we couldn’t shift, because our wolves were out there.”

Scott bit his lip and put his hands together as he took a deep breath and gathered all his patience. “You’re going to need to slow down, babe. I’m struggling to understand what you’re—”

“ _I_ am struggling to understand!” Isaac huffed and kicked an old can that happened to be on the floor.

Scott tried reaching out through their pack bond. Isaac’s inner wolf was also an upset bundle of nerves, but at least he was more receptive to the alpha’s appeal to calm. With a couple of ginger steps Scott closed the gap with Isaac, entering his personal space, and putting his beta’s hand on his chest. It did not take long for both hearts to beat in unison and for Isaac to calm down.

“What’s the time?”

“It’s quarter to six,” Scott smiled despite the hour. “Not much point going back to bed I guess?”

“We’ve had a full night’s sleep?” Isaac was not sure he believed that, although he suspected that time in the Dreamlands was not as regular or linear as in the awaken world.

“I wouldn’t call that a full night. Unless you’re secretly working in that bakery again and I haven’t noticed you walking up this early.”

Isaac snorted with a smile and shook his head, and Scott beamed at him before landing a kiss on his cheek. Isaac still could not believe ever-patient Scott was his boyfriend.

“You,” Jackson approached the couple with a grunt, clearly not happy. “I don’t like being woken up like that. Or at this time. You know what? Ignore that: I don’t like being woken up _full stop_ —watch it, Lahey!” Jackson glared daggers at Isaac, who bit his lip to suppress a chuckle and a comment. “But I know we’re in deep shit, so I’ll let it pass.”

“Spit it out, Jackson,” Scott sighed as Isaac struggled to stop himself from teasing his friend.

“You should listen to what pack pup there has to say.” After that, Jackson turned around and mumbled something about coffee and assholes.

Scott and Isaac re-joined the circle around Liam, who was talking at a hundred miles a second, obviously nervous-ranting about what they had gone through. Ethan was still sitting by him on the tattered remains of the sleeping bag. Stiles was biting his lip and staring into space, but the weirdest thing was that he was holding to Derek’s t-shirt as if that contact reassured him that he was awake. The former alpha accepted it stoically, although his eyebrows were creased in a very uninviting way. That left the Seven Sleepers looking at the scared werewolves. When Isaac caught Demetria’s eye, he got the impression that she knew exactly what had happened.

“I’m still thinking!” Stiles said louder than necessary when he saw that Scott was about to say something. Everyone went silent, even Liam. Stiles held tighter Derek’s top.

“ _Stiles_ , my shirt,” Derek said in the most patient tone Isaac had ever heard him use.

“Shhhhh! I am trying to understand!”

“We entered the Dreamlands,” Isaac explained. Stiles seemed to accept that interruption, as he did not hush at the werewolf. “But all this time we have been sabotaged by a witch—”

“ _Possibly_ a witch,” Stiles clarified. He was now biting his thumb and looking intently at an empty spot in the silo.

“—sabotaged. This saboteur did not want us to enter the Dreamlands because I’m apparently destined to stop her shenanigans.”

Liam nodded emphatically and continued Isaac’s explanation. “She had been manipulating our dreams to keep us away, but last night we got some extra help from… er…” the beta stopped, a shiver running down his spine as he remembered the nightgaunts.

Isaac resumed his account when Liam hesitated. “It boils down to this: there is this Nyarlathotep witch in the Dreamlands trying to arrange a summoning of some sort. Probably nothing good. She is going to take advantage of the Wolf Star to open a portal. Oh, and seeing as it is all my fault, I’m the one who has to prevent it.”

These facts were received by a collective gasp. Even the sleepers, who spoke no English whatsoever, could read the room and understood the name of the God of the Thousand Masks.

“It wasn’t your fault, Isaac, it was mine,” Stiles spoke aloud, stopping the hubbub that followed the revelation.

“Stiles, don’t—”

“Oh, I think I will. I’m sorry, Isaac,” Stiles was fidgeting with his fingers, and even if he meant his apology, he was not ready yet to look Isaac in the eye. “I- I- I- pushed you. You didn’t want to go, and I kept nagging on, and on…”

“My name’s the one that’s part of the prophecy. _I’m_ the Wolf Knight—not you.”

“We wouldn’t be in all this crap if I had not pushed you!”

The pack was surprised to see that it was Derek who stepped in before the two friends entered a shouting contest. “Everyone, calm down. This is very worrying, but I think this is the point when we call Lydia and Deaton? If this has anything to do with the Dreamlands or the ritual, they’ll need to know. _They_ ,” he pointed at the sleepers, “will need to hear this too.”

“If we need a quick and dirty translation, we can use our phones, like Malia,” Ethan proposed. The were-coyote had told him about her successful communication attempts.

All eyes fell on the alpha.

“Amusing as that might be, I have to agree with Derek. We need to call Lydia. We need to call everyone.”

***

By the time Chris and Isaac were back at the cement plant the previous evening, Lydia and Deaton had already left. The veterinarian drove them back to the clinic, where he had stashed most of his relevant research documents, so they could join efforts to understand the true nature of the ritual they had to perform. Lydia knew that Deaton had access to a broad database of supernatural knowledge (as druid and emissary, it was part of his job description), but she had never actually _seen_ this arcane archive. She was really looking forward to getting her hands on those tomes, although she would have preferred to do it in different circumstances.

The drive was quiet, as neither wanted to engage in any small talk when their brains were actively processing all the information they had been given in the meeting. Lydia knew that the ritual was going to be unlike anything they had done before. The sleepers had given them the impression that they were the ones who needed to perform the ritual, but she guessed that the pack would have to do more than just patrolling around to keep the Hound at bay. The banshee was dreading finding out what exactly they would have to do.

The intermittent clicking of the car’s turn signal brought Lydia back from her thoughts, and she found herself thinking about the overall role the druid played. Her very first impression of the druid-turned-vet had not been very good and, for a while, Stiles’ initial suspicions also conditioned her impressions. After all, Deaton had always known far more than he had let them see, and at first he made the point of not wanting to get involved because he was retired. But with time he had proven himself to be a reliable ally of the pack. Deaton was, after all, the only reason they all were still around, perhaps simply because he had been the one who covertly guided and pushed Scott into becoming a true alpha, although the druid had saved their lives in more than one occasion. It was true that he had a tendency to disappear on his own druidic business without telling anyone what he was up to (including trips to Japan and Chernobyl), which even if it was eventually for a good reason it left Scott and the pack worried and confused until he reappeared with a solution. She could understand that he had the right to a private life, but the vet could be more open in his supernatural activities. Of course, if she wanted to see the _other_ side, Lydia was certain that she had learnt more about being a banshee from Meredith, Peter, and Dr Valack than from the druid, when he could have taught her as much. Lydia’s momentary resentment faded away when the veterinarian walked them into the back office in the clinic.

“Okay, let’s get started,” the older man said in his usual soft tone.

“This is your research library?” Lydia was not impressed – probably because there was nothing there that screamed research library. In fact, there were no books. Maybe he had everything in pdfs, but then why not share them?

Deaton did not need any druidic intuition to read Lydia’s face, and with a smug small grin he pulled one of the office folders. The spine read ‘Clinic accounts 2002-03. Vol. II’ but when he opened it up there were no receipts or documents: camouflaged inside that folder there was a neatly printed book, probably a hundred or so years old.

“It’s all digitised now,” Deaton said as he pulled another file that hid a bundle of sheets of parchment. “The admin paperwork, I mean. Scott spent an entire summer scanning them.”

Lydia nodded silently as she bit back a retort on why the research documents were not scanned for the pack to use.

“Hidden in plain sight?” she conceded.

“It was always a good option. Now, where should we start?”

Despite Deaton’s claims about his research library, there was not a lot that was useful in it. Most of his documents were on werewolves and shapeshifters. There was an entire collection on treaties and protocols, and far more on herbs and minerals. The latest addition seemed to be a photocopied booklet about the mi-go, although Lydia did not know how long the vet had had it with him: a year or more? Sadly, there was near nothing about rituals.

Lydia was not surprised by this, so she embarked on the task of trying to read in between the lines, looking for oblique references to the truths beyond. If she had learnt something in the last year it was that the supernatural was only a layer of the unknown. The knowledge about the Outer Gods and other pre-human civilisations of Earth was far more concealed than werewolves, banshees, and hellhounds, creatures that after all appear across mythologies. In order to research into the Outer Gods, she would have to peel off the layers of story that cloaked every nugget of occult _truth_.

Reading like that took time and effort. And it was late and dark and quiet. Lydia struggled but did not give up. She had been through this before and she would most definitely have to do it again. Not only as the pack’s unofficial chief scientist, but for her graduate programme too. Deaton had a whiteboard on which they scribbled all the things they thought were relevant so they would not have to disturb each other when they were concentrating, and by two in the morning, when Lydia could not physically focus any more, she went for a walk around the clinic. Once she was back with a few lungfuls of fresh air in her, she stood in front of the board, hoping to understand whatever they had put together, but the lines of text and arrows were still too difficult to read.

Lydia heard Deaton standing up from his chair and all the vertebrae of his back cracked.

“Nothing?” she ventured as she rubbed her eyes.

“I have found nothing about the wolf star. Only that it indicates a connection between werewolves and Nyarlathotep. It’s not exclusive to Isaac, and it has appeared in the past, but…”

“Aurelius knows exactly what needs doing?”

“No, they need a druid,” Deaton stretched his neck. “But my only guess is that they need me to tap into the nemeton powers.”

“I haven’t found anything about nemetons or stars. Plenty about rituals…” she trailed off.

“I think we should get some rest,” the vet concluded after a few quiet seconds. “I have two reclining chairs here. Scott has spent a night here more than once...”

Lydia silently nodded. She could not stay awake any longer: her brain was throbbing with thoughts and ideas, but the exhaustion was blurring everything into an undefined mist. Lydia had a glass of water before collapsing on the chair, and was asleep in an instant.

***

Lydia normally had dreams like any other person, that was undeniable, but she knew that her dreams were never as vivid or as deeply connected with the Dreamlands as those of her boyfriend. She wondered if perhaps it was because she was a banshee, that something in her connection with the supernatural prevented her from accessing the realm of dreams. But she did not mind; her concern was purely academic. After seeing how Stiles had such a troubled couple of months, she was in no hurry to become a dreamwalker. And yet, the moment she opened her eyes she was fully conscious that she was in a dream, and she knew that something was going to happen.

For a fraction of a second, she expected Meredith to pop up and guide her through this dream, just like she had done when she was locked up in Eichen House; but Meredith did not appear. Lydia found herself floating in a cosmic vacuum looking at a bubble that floated beside her, a misty pearl no bigger than a basketball, in which clouds of grey, pink, and blue shrivelled and whirled in thundering storms that blocked the view into the inside. With a cautious movement, Lydia brought her hand to the mysterious marble and felt a power surge reaching for her fingertip. The banshee did not pull her hand back because the energy was giving her a message. She did not have to look into the misty marble; she just had to reach out and find out what the universe wanted of her.

As that clouded ball unfurled its mist around Lydia’s hand, she felt her finger moving against her will. It was moving in short strokes at different angles, although the finger traced the odd curve every now and then. Lydia knew there was a meaning to all this, but she could not begin to guess what it was. She was exhausted and tired. She needed a proper sleep.

Then it was that she _heard_ it.

The distant sound of flapping wings came together with familiar growls and howls. She could sense the interstellar aether around her vibrating with every flapping sound. Through the void came the unmistakable sound of a fight; the kind of noise that she wished she could not describe but that she knew all too well. Her finger kept making the same curved and angled motions as the noises got worse. The growling and howling and the slashing entered a spiralling crescendo which stopped only with a dull thud and a gurgle. Lydia felt her eyes cry when she sensed fear radiating to her through her connection with the pack, followed by the heart-breaking howl of a lone wolf that echoed in her head and forced her to _scream_.

***

Lydia screamed herself awake, but when she was fully aware of her surroundings Deaton was already by her side. She also noticed that she was not on the chair anymore, but on the floor of the back office.

“What is it, Lydia?”

“He’s dead…” Lydia was sure of what she had felt, but the sensation had vanished once she was awake. That was new and disconcerting.

“Who is, Lydia? You need to tell me,” the vet tried to sound reassuring.

“A werewolf…” and then it became clear. “A _dreamwalker_.”

“You mean, like Isaac or Liam?”

“But they’re not truly dead,” Lydia explained as her brain connected all the feelings of her premonition together.

“Lydia, I think you have had an interaction with the dream world,” Deaton was not looking at her now.

“What do you— _oh_.”

Lydia looked up to the whiteboard when she noticed the felt pen in her hand. On top of the notes that they had scribbled throughout the evening there was a message written in a weird alphabet where each line went in a different direction: one left-to-right, the next one backwards.

“Boustrophedon…” Deaton muttered.

Before Lydia could comment on that, her phone rang.

“Stiles?”

***

When Mason was ready to leave the silo, he said his goodbyes and went out looking for Chris, who was waiting for him, although he was not really taking him _home_. It had been agreed that Mason would stay overnight at the Sheriff’s house to go through Stiles’s research papers. Hopefully with that and his own laptop he might find more information about what Nyarlathotep wanted with the Dreamlands or how to help Isaac. Melissa and Natalie were also part of the pack slumber party at Chateau Stilinski, because Scott was not really happy with any of them spending the night on their own with a Tindalos hound roaming around, ready to jump out of any corner. Chris would be there too with a full complement of weapons, which together with Melissa’s supply of mountain ash, they hoped would be enough to keep them safe for the night.

Once in the house, Chris, Mason, Melissa and Natalie had dinner in a tense silence. Nobody was happy with Scott’s plan of _hiding_ , but nobody knew much about the Hound, and no one had proposed any other alternatives, so that had been it. After doing the dishes, Mason excused himself and went upstairs to start his research session. He started with Stiles’ notes, which was a herculean task. Thankfully, Mason was already an expert in reading through Stiles’ notebooks, because not only was his handwriting cluttered and messy, he also had encrypted it with a not-so-basic word substitution code. He had compiled information about plausible explanations for the Wolf Star, possible early sightings, and even a timeline with Isaac’s medieval werewolf ancestors.

Well after midnight, Mason had reached some preliminary conclusions and had even managed to input some data and his preliminary calculations on his planetarium software. He was waiting for the computer to process the last batch of data when a soft hand knocked on the door.

“Is this something to do with the Werewolf Star?” Melissa asked from the door as she pointed at Mason’s laptop. By piecing together the bits and pieces that the three men in her life had begrudgingly shared with her, Melissa got a rough idea of what was happening. A quick phone call to Lydia had let her fill in the gaps.

“The _Wolf_ Star, yeah,” Mason agreed. “I mean, that star as such never appears in my software, but figuring out the other moments when we know that the Wolf Star shone…” he pulled a few bits of scrap paper all covered in neat scribbling to further prove his point, “there is a possible pattern. If I’m right, then… well… then the conjunction of the Wolf Star will be tomorrow night.”

Mason pulled a nervous smile. Melissa did not find it as reassuring as Mason was hoping.

“How sure are you about that?”

Mason was not sure. All of his calculations were based on guesswork, mostly because he had to put together Stiles’ vague information about the medieval Lahey werewolves fighting in France, what Isaac had let him know about him seeing it when he was a kid, and other possible references in some very unsavoury and disconcerting seventeenth-century books on occultism. The fact that he had forgotten most of his high school maths did not help either. Eventually he realised that he had not given an answer.

“Oh, erm… I don’t know, Mrs McCall… I’ll have to ask Lydia tomorrow.”

Melissa stood there for a second, looking at her son’s friend, surrounded by printouts, notebooks and two screens.

“Are you going to need some extra coffee?”

“I’ll get it, don’t worry, Mrs McCall. You should go to bed.”

“Don’t stay up all night,” she patted Mason’s shoulder as she left. “I told Chris already not to let you, but I have to ask you to make sure he gets some sleep too.”

Mason eventually went to bed. First he went downstairs to wash his coffee mug and to make sure that Chris would go to sleep too, but the hunter was already soundly asleep on the sofa. Mason noted the weapons on the coffee table clearly within reach. He turned all the lights off and walked back to Stiles’ room.

His sleep was troubled. He was exhausted and had a slight migraine, but his sleep was shallow, and he kept waking up every hour.

The one thing that focalised his thoughts in his lucid moments in between periods of troubled sleep was Liam. Mason was concerned about Isaac and Stiles too, but Liam was his best friend. He had always known that Liam had difficulty sleeping whenever he had one of his IED bursts, but he had hardly had any in the last months— _years_! So when Liam mentioned only in passing his difficult sleeping earlier that summer, Mason could only worry. He tried not to pry and waited for his friend to bring the issue up, but he never did. He just spent most of July looking for Stiles or for Isaac, who were also distant and looked like shit. At least Stiles did; Isaac had pretty much ghosted them all. Obviously, when they revealed all the supernatural kerfuffle they had been involved in, everything made sense, but it also made him feel like he had failed his friends. Whatever they had been going through they should have been able to talk about it with their friends and their family. With their _pack_. Mason had no supernatural abilities, and he was nevertheless completely devoted to the pack. He and Corey had broken up because of it! Mason knew that that was not where he wanted to go at that point, so he forced himself to count sheep.

The next time he woke up, he did so still thinking about the pack. At first, in high school, they had been the cool group of older kids that had accepted him into their clique, but it soon grew into something bigger and stronger. His fourteen-year-old self would have never imagined that he would get involved in the crazy world of the supernatural or that he would really _feel_ with absolute certainty that he belonged in a group. Mason sometimes envied the strong invisible connection the werewolves had between them. He knew they could feel their pack bond with him, and it was only when something very intense happened that he felt it back, like a pulse of emotions shoved into his chest. But he did not need that extra sensorial connection to know he belonged or that his packmates missed him when they were apart. Mason knew that werewolves had enhanced emotions, which was why he could not even begin to think why on Earth had Isaac and Liam kept it all quiet? ‘What-if’s would not get him to sleep, so he went for a glass of water, turned over his pillow, and prayed for sleep.

An hour later, Mason was up again. He opened the window, turned on the side and looked out. Light pollution was not one of the main concerns of Beacon Hills residents, and he could still guess a few stars even with the orange glow of the street lamps. Was he right with his calculations? Did they have less than twenty-four hours to carry out that ritual? What did the Outer God want with his pack and his friends? Last year they were fighting cultists. Humans with alien help, but humans they could fight on equal terms. But now gods were messing directly with them. The Anuk-ite had been bad enough… Mason’s eyes got lost in the emptiness of the night sky, and the dark blue dome turned into a mocking abyss that absorbed his certainties, leaving only doubts. Was this what Liam and Isaac had been through, facing Nyarlathotep in the Dreamlands? Mason went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face before returning to bed.

The fourth time Mason woke up the sky was already turning orange. He turned over and buried his face into the pillow and huffed, but then he heard a phone. He was up in a second, looking for his mobile, but he soon found out that it was not his phone ringing.

“Hello?” Mason heard Melissa answer, her voice heavy with sleep. “Okay, okay. Who’s there? Is everyone safe?” Mason did not like either the scared tone or the content of the conversation. “Oh, God. Stay there, we’re sending help! _Chris!_ ” Melissa was now up and darting down the corridor, calling for her fiancé. “It’s at the hospital! Greg says it’s there! Chris! We need to get Noah…”

In a second Mason heard Chris pacing around downstairs, and he heard Natalie’s soft footsteps coming to find out what was going on. Mason himself was about to ask when his phone started buzzing.

“Liam?”

***

Malia’s day had begun with her toast falling on the floor at breakfast, and it had gone downhill ever since. Bumping into Isaac carrying an injured time traveller, finding the dried out corpse in the preserve, the headache about the Dreamlands and the Outer Gods… And now she was back at the station at half-past midnight, after having been on the early shift that morning. Sometimes Malia really wished she had gone to France when she had had the chance, and maybe stay there, like Isaac had done.

When the pack meeting was cut short the previous evening, the Sheriff had taken pity on her, and she had been allowed to go home to sleep for a while. But midnight came and she had to relieve Parrish, who also had been on the early morning shift, and was only now finishing the eighteen-hour marathon.

“You okay?” Parrish asked when Malia crossed the station’s doors. He sounded very tired.

“Yeah,” was Malia’s grunt of a reply. “Coffee?” she demanded more than asked, and Jordan pointed her towards the break room. She walked back with two mugs, but she did not offer Parrish one. “Anything I should know?”

Parrish shook his head. “Outside the Spanish mission we found two more bodies of people with their entrails all sucked out. But that you knew already…”

“How fantastic,” Malia rubbed her eyes and finished mug number one.

“They were just two normal people walking their dog,” Parrish commented, and Malia could sense the other deputy’s apprehension mixed with the exhaustion. Seeing a dead body was not something one got used to easily, but seeing them emptied out through a hole in their chest was the kind of thing that required therapy. “We cordoned off the entire area to minimise the chances but, to be fair, I don’t know if that will work… Other than that, it has all been pretty calm.”

“And I won’t believe that’s going to be the case later today,” Noah Stilinski walked out of his office, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything.

“Give me a second, boss,” Malia asked as she pointed at the coffee mug.

“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up. And you,” he pointed at Parrish, “you may go now. Try to get some sleep – I have a gut feeling you’re not getting all the beauty sleep you need.”

Parrish shook his head but smiled despite himself. He waved his goodbyes and left. Soon after, Malia finished all her coffee, declared herself awake again, and went off with the Sheriff on patrol.

The night shift was long and boring, which was good. Maybe the Hound was having a night off, or maybe it was having difficulties tracking the seven sleepers. Both counted as wins in Malia’s books. They drove up and down the preserve and they drove all the way to the mission, but they mostly sat in the car waiting for any reports on the radio. When even that got boring, the Sheriff suggested that a late night snack would keep them going, so they drove to an all-night diner and they had a very early breakfast.

Malia liked spending time with the Sheriff. While she and Stiles were still going out together, she and the Sheriff had bonded over forbidden food groups, and Noah had been extremely helpful when she decided to move out from her dad’s place (even if she moved in with Derek, which was a miracle of Stilinski diplomacy). He had also been far more helpful than the school counsellor when the day came when she wanted to get a job. Now she was a deputy, and she knew she could not have a better boss. He reminded her of a calmer version of Stiles, and he irradiated some fatherly vibes that made her comfortable around him. She most definitely would tell anyone who asked her that she had chosen to become a deputy only because of him: she was not comfortable with weapons, and hated the paperwork, but she admired the sheriff, and she loved working with him.

“So, Malia, tell me the truth,” Noah lowered his voice as he drank some of his coffee. “What have Stiles and the other two got themselves into?”

Malia knew that the Sheriff did not want an analysis of the supernatural situation. Noah was worried about his son and the two other werewolves that he had mysteriously developed paternal protective instincts over. The werecoyote stopped to think. She wanted to say that everything would be okay, that they were just scared and had thought that the dreams would eventually go away, but she had seen Isaac that morning carrying the injured time traveller. Isaac was properly terrified, and she sensed that he thought they were too deep in shit. After a few seconds of chewing her bacon, Malia told the Sheriff exactly that; she knew he could deal with truths, and Malia never saw the point of lying anyways. They finished their food in silence.

By the time they finished their pancakes, the eastern sky was turning a light shade of blue and, for the first time that night, their radios went off. Apparently, a suspicious car seemed to have been abandoned just outside the cordoned area. According to the database, the car belonged to one Susan Walker, a nurse from Beacon Hills Memorial, but the agent could not see any traces of the owner. The Sheriff looked at Malia, who nodded at the unspoken question, and he then instructed the officer over the radio to go and check at her home address, in case the car had been stolen during the night.

Ten minutes later, the Sheriff himself was standing in front of the suspicious car.

“Do we know anything about this Susan Walker?” he asked with a grimace.

“I don’t think we should ring Scott’s mom, but Liam’s dad is working now. Maybe he knows?”

Noah bit his lip in a way that reminded Malia of Stiles. Then he nodded.

“I’ll call him. Can you see if you can… you know… _track_ her? Sense what she’s doing here at night?”

“Can do, boss.”

While the Sheriff was on the phone, Malia walked slowly around the car. She could guess by the way the car smell and the human smell mixed that the owner of the car had driven it here. He could also tell that Susan Walker had been feeling rushed, but also excited. It did not take Malia much to follow her trail from the car to the police line and up the hill.

“Sheriff?” Malia called aloud.

“He’s not answering. It gives me a busy tone all the time,” Noah replied without looking up.

“I think she might have climbed up the hill?”

That made the Sheriff look at his deputy.

“She definitely left her car and walked up the hill _here_?” he used his ‘I need a clear and direct answer and I need it now’ voice.

“Yes,” Malia nodded. “As far as I can tell, she went up sort of that way.”

“There’s only one thing up that hill… the old beacon tower.”

“Is that relevant?”

“I don’t know…” the Sheriff admitted. “But we have three archaeological sites in Beacon Hills, and that Hound has been already on two of them.”

“Should we go and check?” Malia ventured. The Sheriff pondered.

“Let’s ring Scott first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year ago I had only started "Beacons and Groves", and now the end of the second part is in sight, which I find very exciting.


	25. The sealed corridor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluorescent tubes were off, and the corridor was lit only by the dull green glow of the emergency lights, but through the gap under one of the bedroom doors he could see a blue-purple glimmer, which illuminated the thick, unnaturally coloured smoke that poured from inside the room.
> 
> OR: The pack needs to tackle the various emergencies they have woken up to.

Dr Geyer had been told by Melissa the very basics about what their kids were facing, which was based on the incomplete information said kids had given her. It all had sounded very complex, but Greg knew that there were two main points he needed to remember: there is a creature that comes out of corners and do not let it look into your eyes. Considering that it was a night shift and that the inflow of patients had been relatively slow, Dr Geyer had been happy to keep the corridor where the Greek lady had been staying empty of patients and staff.

It was late in his shift when he finally had time to go to the break room, have a bite and relax for a minute. He ended having a chat with one of the nurses about the untouched remains of Dr Cleary’s walnut cake. The night janitor came in to empty the bins and have a short chat.

“All good, Frank?” Dr Geyer asked before finishing his apple.

“Yeah, all good, Dr Geyer,” the man in a blue-grey jumpsuit replied. He looked at the walnut cake on the kitchen top, and pointed at it. “That brick Dr Cleary’s?”

The two nurses stifled a chuckle, and even Liam’s father had to smile.

“It is… Wanna try it?”

“I’ve got enough stomach problems as it is, thank you. I know he really tries his best, but that man should stop baking.”

“I think his wife already told him not to leave his cakes home. Apparently, they’re not good for her ‘diet’.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before…” Frank put the cake remains carefully into his rubbish bin.

The room fell silent for a couple of seconds after that, which is why the sound of broken glass was heard neatly across the ward.

“What was that?” Greg asked. Nobody knew.

Frank the janitor walked outside to have a look.

“Dr Geyer? You better come out here.”

The nurses looked at Liam’s father and the man shrugged. He stood up and walked out into the hall.

“Can you smell that?” the janitor pointed at the shut gates that blocked access to the closed corridor. “It’s like rotten eggs and bitter almonds. I thought nobody was in _there_ tonight?”

The janitor had worked in that hospital for long enough to know that weird shit tended to happen. His strong survival instinct always told him not to look, stay at a distance, and walk away whenever something like this happened. It always worked.

Dr Geyer stepped slightly closer and peeked through the glass panes into the hallway. The fluorescent tubes were off, and the corridor was lit only by the dull green glow of the emergency lights, but through the gap under one of the bedroom doors he could see a blue-purple glimmer, which illuminated the thick, unnaturally coloured smoke that poured from inside the room.

_Ah._

He slowly walked back. When he was by Frank he looked at him in silence, and the janitor understood: no questions asked, no words needed. Dr Geyer pulled his phone out and called Liam, but his phone was off. Odd sniffing noises coming from the closed corridor were now clearly audible. The nurses hurried away while the janitor gestured that he was going to warn everyone. Dr Geyer nodded before calling his son again, but Liam was still not answering. The next noise that came from the corridor was that of claws scratching on wood. Scratching on a _door_. Greg cursed at his son and his useless phone, and he rang the one person he knew would answer.

***

Stiles called Lydia with all the intent of telling her what had happened, but she already knew about Liam. Stiles decided not to ask – it was too early in the morning, after all. At the same time, Isaac was about to call Chris, but the hunter beat him to it, calling him first, saying something about the hospital. Similarly, before Scott could call anyone, his own phone started ringing.

“Malia?” he answered when he saw the caller ID.

“Scott, we’ve found something,” Malia said, but Scott could not hear much because Isaac, Liam, and Stiles were all on their phones, speaking to someone else, and trying to tell the alpha something. Everyone seemed distressed, and all the calls seemed urgent.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually everyone knew that the Hound was at the hospital and that a nurse had purposefully walked into the cordoned-off zone close to the Cave of the Seven Sleepers. Apparently, all the things that could go wrong that morning had coordinated to happen at the same time. Isaac could only wonder if all this chaos was purely coincidental…

“Okay, cool. I’ll make sure someone is here too,” Scott spoke into his phone before hanging up. “Deaton and Lydia are coming here. Ethan, can you tell them—” he nodded at the sleepers “—to stay put until they arrive?”

“And how do I do that?” Ethan frowned.

“Use your phone—that was _your_ idea,” Stiles retorted with all his lack of tact. Ethan flipped him off, but did as was asked.

“The rest, we’re going to the hospital to fend off the hound. Except you, Liam,” Scott singled his beta out. “You stay with Stiles.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re already a target of the hound. I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring you to face it again.”

“You’re _benching_ me?”

“You’re not being benched, Liam,” Scott had no time for this. Behind them, Ethan was speaking into his phone, and something in the automatic translation made the Greeks chuckle. “But we need to keep you safe. You and the sleepers, who are also being targeted. And we need someone to protect them just in case.”

“So you want me to stay behind? You want to have all the targets of that monster in the one room?”

“I’ll be here too? And we’re in the space without corners so it cannot come find us,” Stiles pointed out.

“Yeah, because this silo is a perfect, smooth _sphere_.”

“I’ll stay behind with them,” Derek volunteered.

“Are you sure?” Scott asked. Derek nodded. “You okay with that?” he turned to Liam, who hesitated for a second before sighing in agreement.

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Derek insisted. “You guys rush to the hospital.”

Scott did not need any more reassurance and he dashed for the cars, followed by the three betas.

“Do they really have membership cards?” Stiles mumbled with a half-smile once the four werewolves had left the silo.

“Cards for what?” Liam asked.

“For that LGTB Werewolf Society they were on about last year.”

Liam huffed and rolled his eyes, but Derek actually giggled.

“Don’t be jealous,” the older werewolf commented.

“I’m not jealous!”

“Next time you can sit with them talking about Nick Jonas and Zac Efron and that other one I can’t remember,” Liam half-moaned, half-joked. Stiles looked at him in confusion. “Yes, they do that. I’ve been there... Trust me, there’s no reason why you should feel left out, unless there is something you need to tell us?”

“Nah, littlest werewolf. I had that chat once with my dad. He didn’t buy it…”

“Shut it,” Derek hushed them as he cautiously approached the entrance. “There’s a car coming.”

***

Demetria had never had such a day in her life, and that was counting all her time travels into the forgotten past and the distant future. It was not simply the barbarous language that the locals grunted at each other or the weird mechanic utensils that seemed to invade every aspect of their lives: she and her companions were being protected by a coven of lycanthropes and their druidic emissary, one of whom was a dreamwalker marked by Nyarlathotep, and these lycanthropes were the ones who would help them conclude the ritual to banish the hound! Aurelius had a difficult time processing it all, and Heraklios was still reluctant to accept their help, but Cleomena was thrilled and loving every single aspect of this time. She had even confessed to Demetria that she found one of the lycanthropes charmingly handsome. Anthemios was perhaps the most pleased with their current situation: whatever the druid had done to his wound, it was feeling much better now.

The previous day had been emotionally exhausting, so it came as no surprise when Cleomena’s favourite lycanthrope woke everyone up, yelling in terror. Neither Lydia nor the druid were there to translate what was happening, but it was easy to guess, especially when the name of Nyarlathotep was mentioned.

“The Outer God is trying to take advantage of the Wolf Star,” Aurelius whispered.

“How do you know he’s trying to take advantage?” Hypathia said with unexpected cynicism. “Why would he need to take advantage of something he has had an eternity to plan ahead?”

After a short while, one of the lycanthropes came to them and had his handheld mechanikon translate something for him into that awful, broken Latin the device spoke.

“ _Nos pugnare off a canis. Judas mercator pessimus osculo debes exspecta Lydiae amnibus repletos._ ”

Demetria stifled a chuckle, but the rest were less discreet and laughed at the nonsense about Judas the worst merchant kissing Lydia with full rivers. The lycanthrope seemed very confused, so he tried for a different phrase, which this time was understandable: they were off to fight the Hound, and Lydia and the druid were coming to meet them.

Half of the lycanthropes left, but Cleomena was happy to see that the one she liked had stayed behind. Aurelius was not happy being left abandoned in that weird tower when they should be preparing stuff for the ritual, but Anthemios convinced him that it was best to hide there than to venture outside.

Eventually, the hunter called Christophoros and his younger assistant arrived, followed soon after by the druid and Lydia. Demetria quickly went to greet her, both because she had been worried for her, but also because they wanted to know what exactly had happened.

“A lot has occurred,” Lydia admitted in her passable Latin. “But we first need to ask if any of you can read this.”

Lydia pointed at a smooth white surface with an inscription written in green ink that the druid was wheeling in.

“What is that?” Demetria asked as the rest of the sleepers walked towards the curious inscription.

“I wrote it in my sleep…” Lydia admitted, not fully comfortably.

“Aurelius?” Demetria called. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yes…” he got closer to the inscription and eyed it carefully. “Is this _Etruscan_?”

***

Ethan and Jackson crammed in the back of the Jeep as Scott drove at top speed to the hospital. The Sheriff and Malia were already heading there, although they warned the alpha that one of the nurses had crossed the cordon and walked into the hills. Scott decided that it could wait.

“Will you please just say whatever it is you’re holding, Lahey?” Jackson eventually scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that,” he reprimanded his friend when he looked at him with a terrified expression. “Everyone in this car knows. It’s not the time to keep things quiet.”

“Er….”

“Is that true, babe?” Scott asked as he changed gears. Jackson muttered something about ‘incredible’ and ‘oblivious’, but Ethan punched his shoulder.

“Okay, don’t freak out—” Isaac began cautiously.

“ _Isaac_.”

“It’s Coach,” the beta admitted. His revelation was met with silence.

“What about him?”

“He’s also in the Dreamlands. He’s like a jedi professional dreamer. We’re going to go and have a chat with him later, because he knows how we can get my brother back. Oh, yeah. He’s there waiting for me to come and bring him back.”

“Your _brother_?” Three werewolves asked in unison. Jackson because he had met Camden, many _many_ years ago; Scott because he had assumed that his was the only family Isaac had left; Ethan mostly out of shock.

Isaac shrugged as if that was not a life-rocking revelation, but he did not have much time to give a full explanation. But by the time they got to the hospital Scott and the other two betas had a clearer picture of what had happened when Isaac entered the Dreamlands and found his brother and his old teacher.

Outside the hospital, the Sheriff and Malia were already escorting the evacuated patients with Dr Geyer.

“Where’s Liam?” was the anxious question they were greeted with.

“He’s okay! He’s safe,” Scott calmed his beta’s step-father. “Where’s the creature?”

Isaac felt his mouth turning into a giddy smile at the sight of his boyfriend going into his alpha-hero mode. Jackson pulled his phone out and snapped a picture.

“It’s destroying the corridor where the time traveller was staying,” it had taken him a few years, but Dr Geyer could now talk about the supernatural. “I don’t think it’s out of it yet. It seemed it was mostly busy sniffing around.”

“Okay, we’re going in,” Scott decided. “Everyone, remember to close your eyes once we’re in there.”

“This thing is very cold,” Ethan warned Scott and Malila. “We will be able to sense it because of the freezing air that surrounds it.”

“But no matter how much we claw at it, it never seems to stop,” Jackson clarified. He had barely recovered from his previous fight with the Hound. “Last time it just fled, but we’re not sure of why or how.”

“Let’s stay positive, guys,” Malia grinned. “And stay away from its mouth.”

“Sheriff,” Scott turned around. “We’ll try to send everyone out.”

***

No matter how often they walked into a deserted or evacuated hospital, the pack would never get used to see Beacon Hills Memorial with flickering emergency lights, empty counters and beds, and papers lying around unattended. They would never get used to hearing weird unnatural growls and other noises that should never belong in a hospital either. And yet, there they were, again.

It was easy enough for them to locate the corridor that Dr Geyer had sealed off, but Liam’s father was wrong: the creature was not contained there anymore. The doors were off their hinges, half-torn, half-clawed into splinters. There were weird burnt streaks coming out of various angles, some marked on the floor, some on the ceiling. Some formed a disturbing pentagram on a wall. The corridor and adjacent rooms were also full of a low-lying thick sulphuric mist which stank of hell; Jackson and Ethan were glad they had fought that thing outdoors before.

Isaac had his claws and fangs out, and had positioned himself just to Scott’s right, and one step behind, ready to protect his boyfriend from anything that came from the side or the rear. The other members of the pack naturally fell into formation, everyone keeping their eyes open in case they saw—

“Close your eyes,” Scott reminded everyone, and everything went black.

Isaac could follow Scott even with his eyes closed. By the time he had left to France he had memorised his scent, but after a year together their connection went much further. It was not only their pack bond or his scent; it was a fine tuning between the two, that they could anticipate each other’s reactions in stressful situations. Right now, Isaac could feel Scott’s beating heart close to his left.

Scott led them to the centre of the corridor, where the stench of the creature was the strongest, and where it felt the coldest.

“What now?” Malia whispered, her claws ready and itching.

“Now we split into—”

“Do _NOT_ split the party,” Isaac insisted. Ethan and Jackson chuckled. Suddenly Isaac felt a déjà-vu from last summer.

“Babe, we need to find this—” But Scott did not finish his sentence. A primeval growl that sent chills up their spines rumbled around the ward.

“I think it found _us_.”

The heavy thud of clawed paws announced that the Hound was charging. Everyone shut their eyes tight as they turned to face the Hound, but it charged _from above_ , dropping heavily on Ethan, who squirmed in pain.

Jackson and Malia were the first ones to lash with their claws, both feeling the burning sensation of their skin freezing inside the aethereal body of the Hound. Meanwhile, the creature had sunk its claws deep into the twin, who cried and coughed blood and felt his bones snap. Isaac was about to charge into the spot where he felt the cold coming from, only to be sent flying back in the air by a powerful clawed kick. He impacted the far wall and felt a few ribs breaking when he hit the fire extinguisher that was placed there.

Scott, however, managed to dodge the other kick. The Hound turned around in disbelief, expecting to see someone with a pair of open eyes, foolishly exposing their inner souls to it, but it saw Scott instead standing defiantly with his eyes firmly closed.

Jackson pulled Ethan away when the Hound stepped off of him, leaving a trail of blood on the tiled floor, but Malia still could sense the icy cold irradiating from the Hound, and she charged violently into it, slashing two, three, four times with her claws until her fingers were numb and blackening. The Hound seemed not bothered about this, as all its attention was now on Scott, who side-stepped and dodged all of its bites and claw attacks.

“Scott! Guys!” Isaac shouted as he struggled to stand up. “Stick to the walls!”

And with that, the blond werewolf clawed off the top valve of the fire extinguisher and lobbed it at the centre of the corridor, where he thought (and hoped) the Hound was. The metal canister flew out, rattling heavy on the walls and floor and spraying everything with carbon dioxide, making his packmates cough.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Malia shouted while she ducked and felt the heavy metal tube bounce off the walls.

“I don’t know!” Isaac admitted.

“Trying to kill the thing there, not _us_ , Lahey!”

While neither the gas nor the canister seemed to do much to the Hound, they distracted it long enough for Scott to lunge claws first into what he hoped was the skull or neck of the creature. He immediately felt his hand go through the frozen aether but then he hit something _solid_. The Hound howled and stepped back, freeing Scott’s now-aching hand, as it snapped with its triple jaws ineffectively left and right and recoiled back along the corridor. That of course meant that Malia and Jackson had another chance to claw at the big cold thing that was in between them, but the Hound managed to dodge the blind attacks while managing to close its jaws on Malia’s leg.

The scream of pain was the last bit of encouragement that Isaac needed before clenching his jaw, lowering his body position, and darting straight ahead down the corridor, smashing his shoulder into the hound, feeling his own flesh go through the ghostly body of the creature. The Hound jumped up, and clawed down at Isaac, and while the beta tried to roll away on his froze-burnt skin, he was not fast enough, and the creature tore with its nails into the werewolf’s chest.

Feeling his boyfriend’s pain through their bond, and _sensing_ Isaac’s inner wolf bloodied and whining in pain, Scott roared a howling challenge at the Hound. The walls and windows of the hospital trembled. All of his betas felt his power and joined in with their howls, finding strength where they thought there was none. Still with his eyes closed, but perfectly locating the Hound because of its temperature and its noises, Scott charged again, a blur of fangs and claws that lashed at the Hound, forcing it to step further back, until Isaac was lying safely under Scott’s legs. The alpha crouched down, one hand possessively on Isaac’s bleeding shoulder, and growled again.

The Hound growled back, accepting the challenge. The exchange gave Malia and Jackson enough time to follow the walls blindly and bring their sorry selves (and a bleeding Ethan) back to where Scott was standing.

The McCall Pack stuck close to their alpha and got ready for another attack, but just as it had done the previous morning when facing the werewolves out in the preserve, the Hound slowly stepped back, growling menacingly until it disappeared into a portal plane conjured out of a corner.

As the acrid smell of the Hound slowly dissipated and the room temperature rose, Scott dared open his eyes. The Hound was gone but his pack was mauled bloody. Ethan was the one in worse shape, but everyone else had bleeding gashes, bruises, and broken bones.

“You can open your eyes,” he said, and his packmates immediately did so.

Malia cursed when she saw her bleeding leg, but she managed to reach for her radio to tell the Sheriff that it was safe to come back. Jackson tended to Ethan while Scott knelt down by Isaac and drained away his pain.

“Possessive much?” Isaac grinned when he could look into his boyfriend’s brown eyes again. That simple thing made such a big difference on how he felt.

Scott blushed and bit his lip, but said nothing else. He just held Isaac’s hand to drain his pain and brought it up to his lips to give it a kiss.

“It’s okay, he’s got no chance. Why would I want a hideous monster from another dimension when I’ve got one _Scott McCall_?” Isaac added simply to see how much he could make Scott blush.

“Don’t make me regret pushing you two together,” Jackson warned, mostly in jest.

“Too late for that,” Ethan managed to joke weakly through a bloody smile.

“The Sheriff and Liam’s dad are on their way. What now?”

“Now?” Scott asked, still kneeling by Isaac. “Now we make sure that _thing_ runs away for good.”

***

“What does the inscription say?” the druid asked in his heavily accented Latin. Aurelius had been working with Hypathia on the inscription for a while, trying to understand what it said.

“Etruscan is a very ancient language that hardly anyone speaks any longer in our days,” Aurelius explained. “But it relates to the _stella lupina_ , the Wolf Star.”

“It also comes with a prophecy,” Hypathia added. “Whatever Lydia wrote seems to be a direct message from the nethergods of the Dreamlands.”

“How?”

“Let me see… ‘The Star of the Wolf will mark the _θesan_ …’ the day or the morning? One of those… ‘The day when the Dark _lauχum_ ,’ which is the king, ‘will move the _tular_ stones of his kingdom into ours. The Star of the Wolf will mark victory of the Wolf _purθ_ and the fall of the Wolf _pulumχva_ ’... the rest seems to be an incantation for the ritual of the Wolf Star.”

As the druid and Aurelius discussed the finer details of incantation and compared it to what they had read from the _Book of Eibon_ , Lydia walked to Demetria with a worried face.

“What is all this about the victory and the fall of the wolves?”

“I’m not completely sure,” Demetria admitted. “One must be one of your lycanthropes, and the other the Hound.”

“But which one is which?”

***

At Auckland’s airport VIP lounge, one immaculately dressed passenger was sipping his gin and tonic while finishing the novel he had been reading for the last few weeks in his remote cabin in the South Island.

Peter had always had a soft spot for New Zealand: it was something about the people and the landscape which really called to him. He also had many fond memories from the ‘research’ months he spent there a few years before the fire. That was why soon after Christmas Peter decided to pack and go on an eight-month vacation to the South Island, where he could go and have some close encounters with old acquaintances, enjoy the vast tracts of wilderness, and maybe go visit a few film sets. Anything to get away from the nemeton and its unnatural knack to attract crazy shit. He ended up buying a house.

The novel itself was not the best he had read, but that month it had been Derek’s turn to choose. Peter Hale might be unwilling to participate in Scott McCall’s pack shenanigans, but he was happy to participate in a Hale family book club with Derek, Cora, and Malia. Trying to bring together a family scarred by tragedy and a homicidal and manipulative uncle was complicated, but at least the younger Hales were willing to entertain him with this. The PA of the VIP lounge announced that the flight to San Francisco was already boarding, so Peter drank up and got ready.

Fourteen-hour flights were never comfortable, even in first class (and Peter would not fly any other way), but Peter somehow managed to sleep through all the second half, which meant that now that he was back in California his inner clock was partly adjusted to the local time (which was, strangely enough, _yesterday morning_ ). Once he got out of the plane and went through the fast-track passport checkpoint, the former alpha picked his luggage up, and retrieved his car from the long-stay car park. After only a few more hours driving up the road, he finally got back to Beacon Hills.

Twenty-four hours after leaving his remote cottage in the New Zealand wilderness, Peter was back in his immaculate apartment. He was about to pull his keys from his pocket when he caught a scent lingering in the hall. It was distantly familiar, but he could not exactly remember whom it belonged to. It was not McCall or one of his sidekicks, which was a plus, but it was someone else. By the time he was through his front door his amazing holiday mood had already been soured. Inside the apartment, which was as clean and tidy as he had left it, the air was stale and muggy, but before he could open the windows to ventilate the flat, Peter noticed the pile of letters sprawled across the floor. He picked them up, and immediately noticed the hand-written note that sat on top.

 _TIME TO PAY BACK, HALE._ _T_.

“Of course,” he muttered as he crushed the note into a ball.

Peter wheeled his suitcases into the house and slammed the door behind him. He read the note again and scoffed. He had been dreading this moment for years. He knew he had a debt to pay, but he was hoping that the day would never come. The day he asked for that favour, it had all been very _Godfather_ like. Of course, he could go and rip his throat out, but Peter had an inkling that McCall was in the centre of it all and would object.

Peter cursed and had a glass of water. He re-read the note a third time as he tapped the table with his nails, which were slowly turning into claws and tried to think of ways in which he could avoid this, but there did not seem to be a way out. There was no way of avoiding the Oneiric Pilgrims; Peter eventually would have to _sleep_ , and then… and then they would find him.

“Damn you, Taliesin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're getting that close to the final battle!
> 
> Also, Google translate can't do Latin at all. Ethan is meant to say "We are off to fight the hound. You should stay here and wait for Lydia", which Google turns into "Nos pugnare off a canis. Judas mercator pessimus osculo debes exspecta Lydiae amnibus repletos." Of course, Google translates that back as “We fight off a dog. Merchant Judas kiss must wait for Lydia.” But the actual meaning is closer to “We to fight off by the dog. Judas the worst merchant, with a kiss to Lydia, you must she expects full with rivers.”


	26. One last piece on the chessboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let me get this straight: I’m the one who has broken the rules because I’ve told my pack about the shitstorm that is about to happen in the Dreamlands with the witch and her end-of-the-world summoning of an Outer God, but you can go and find Peter Hale so he can help us?"
> 
> OR: the pack sails through the calm before the storm as they put together a plan to deal with their two upcoming rituals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I will never thank enough i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name for spottting all the mistakes I make, and all the support when writing this story!

“How do you know where he lives?” Isaac asked Scott as they walked with Jackson down the path to Coach’s house.

After the fight with the Hound, Scott had asked Malia to stay with the Sheriff to sort things out at the hospital, while keeping Ethan with Dr Geyer, to have a proper look at his wounds. The three werewolves were bloodied and bruised, and anyone out in the street who saw them would probably scream blue murder and run away, but they had no time to lose.

“It’s a very long story,” Scott admitted, slightly embarrassed. This tickled Isaac’s curiosity, who now listened more carefully to what had been an innocent question. “You’ll have to ask Stiles. Or Danny. Or Jackson here.”

“Leave me out of it, McCall. You did it all by yourself,” Jackson said with a malicious grin.

“Does that mean Jackson knows too? Is this from your pre-werewolf bad-boy days?” Isaac suggested.

“It involves a fifteen-year-old me, a Halloween dare, and a lacrosse stick,” Scott admitted as he blushed. “And you’re not going to hear more of it.”

Before his boyfriend could enquire any further, Scott was already at the door, knocking. The three werewolves went silent as they waited. Inside the house they could clearly hear rustling and pacing.

“Coach?” Scott shouted as he knocked again when it was evident that the person inside was not coming to open the door.

The noises from within the house continued. Someone was clearly in, but staying away.

“Coach! We know you’re in there.”

“We don’t know it’s him,” Jackson whispered.

Isaac cautiously walked along the front of the house and, with ease, jumped the fence that separated the back garden. Scott and Jackson waited for a few seconds, not knowing what Isaac was planning to do, but soon enough they heard their friend saying ‘hello, Coach’ in a tone that Scott knew too well meant Isaac was: a) doing something he should not be doing, b) that he damn well knew he should not be doing it, and c) that he was enjoying it nevertheless. This was followed half a second later by Coach shouting in terror, followed by the thud of someone hitting a wall.

“Isaac!” Scott shouted as he and Jackson jumped over the fence. Once they got to the back garden, they saw Isaac helping Coach up from the grass. “You didn’t do it.”

“What? No! He did it to himself, right Coach?”

“Don’t go around scaring people like that, Lahey!” Coach shrugged Isaac’s hand as he stood up and rubbed his forehead.

“I might have startled him, and he turned around and hit the wall.”

“I wouldn’t use ‘startle’, you… bloodied and battered juvenile delinquents! And what are you three doing here? I thought I got rid of you years ago?”

“We need to talk,” Scott said with calm.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Coach replied just too quickly. The three werewolves looked at each other. The four men knew that was a lie.

“Really, Coach?” Scott looked at Coach, who stared nervously back. The teacher then shifted uncomfortably and looked at Isaac and then at Jackson before biting his knuckle with a groan.

“ _Fine_. Get inside,” Bobby Finstock gave up. “And where are Liam and the clumsy one?”

“You’ll see them later.”

They sat in Coach’s living room, which consisted of three separate reclining chairs and a coffee table covered under a pile of school paperwork. There was a television on the wall, but it was covered with post-it notes. Jackson looked at Scott, demanding a silent answer, but the alpha just shook his head; whatever that was, it was not for them to know.

“You know you’re not meant to tell anyone about the Dreamlands, right?” was the first thing Coach said when the door behind them was firmly closed.

“It’s complicated…” Isaac mumbled, looking chastised. Older men in positions of authority still had that effect on him.

“No, it _isn’t_ ,” Coach insisted, still focusing on Isaac. “Just because you’re werewolves doesn’t mean you have to share everything with your little pack!”

“Coach—” Scott warned when Isaac shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

“No, McCall; Lahey here does not understand that he has an important thing to do when he’s asleep that is far more important than whatever supernatural thing you are frolicking with around that magic tree of yours!”

“Coach—” Jackson tried to step in.

“Ah, the returned prodigal son! But no, listen. The two missing musketeers are meant to be helping your buddy here bring his brother back and stop that- that- that… _witch_! Lahey, and Dunbar, and Bilinski,” Coach counted with his hand before bringing them together and circling the three fingers with his other hand, “they are all a bundle together who are meant to come and help stop the Outer God from entering the Dreamlands.”

“Coach!” Scott said more firmly, eyes flashing red. “We think that whatever is happening in your dreams is connected with the creature that’s roaming around town.”

Bobby Finstock stood still for a second before answering. “What creature?”

“Haven’t you been listening to the news?” Jackson did not know why he was still flabbergasted with Coach’s lack of contact with his surrounding reality.

“I gave up on that years ago, Whittemore. Nothing worth learning in them.”

Scott managed to get Coach to sit down and explained very briefly what had happened in the last twenty-four hours with the Hound and the time travellers, concluding with their morning trip to the hospital.

“I think that we need your side of the story,” Scott concluded. “Because whatever you know will help us understand what we can do about this Hound and Nyarlathotep.”

“This is so beyond the rules,” Coach shook his head as he paced around the living room. “You have no idea… And this disrupts all my plans! I was not thinking, I mean… you? Here? Why are you making this so complicated when it was a simple in, out, and shake it all about?!”

The three werewolves did not know what to say to that. Their former teacher went silent, clearly expecting a reply.

“Are we going to your little werewolf den or what?” he said as if that were the logical conclusion to his previous rant. When none of the pack members moved, he just rolled his eyes and walked to the door. Scott, Isaac, and Jackson quickly followed.

Of course, at that point the last thing Bobby Finstock was expecting to see when he opened his front door was Peter Hale standing there, mid-knock.

“Ah, well. At least D’Artagnan is here.”

***

Liam checked the time on his phone and sighed. 8:57am, Sunday the 26th July. There was no need for him to be up that early. He might have woken up drenched in sweat and convinced that he had died while fighting that byakhee, _true_ , but he was over it now. Mostly over it. Now he had to sit all morning in a dusty abandoned silo, babysat by Derek, with half of his pack battling against a creature from outside time and space while the other tried to make sense of whatever Lydia had written overnight. There were also the cursed instructions written on a two-thousand year-old spell book to take into consideration, on top of everything. Thank God Derek had gone to get some breakfast for them, because otherwise he might have murdered someone.

And then there was this Greek woman who kept talking to him in whatever dead language she spoke, all dimples and bright eyes and smiles, and Liam did not know what to do other than smile politely and nod. He got the gist of what was going on (he wasn’t Scott-oblivious), but it was difficult to talk back, so he just smiled and nodded. Liam’s brain flashed at him an image of Sofia from college, just to make things more complicated. Thankfully Lydia came to his rescue and took the woman away for something or other.

“Lydia,” Liam stood up before the banshee could turn around and go back to their secret runic-slash-druidic mumbo-jumbo. “What is going on?”

“Too much is going on, Liam,” Lydia admitted, not mincing her words, but not disclosing anything else.

“Yes, I get that, but you and Mason and Deaton are all talking about your magic stuff with the time travellers, and Derek was at least keeping me company, but now he’s busy with Chris and their plans and tactics. I feel left out?”

Lydia had to smile. But rather than giving him an answer, she linked her arm in his.

“Let’s get some fresh air,” she said with a suddenly mischievous grin, pulling Liam with her.

“Wait, outside?” the werewolf was not sure that was a good idea, considering what was looking for him. “But Scott—”

“Scott has been running up and down town all morning and still is.”

“What about, you know… the Hound?”

“I sense that Scott has done something to it,” she said slowly, in a strange tone of voice, as if the realisation was only slowly emerging into her mind. “And who’s the one who senses death around anyways?”

“I don’t like it when you joke about that,” Liam lowered his voice. Lydia just sighed and patted the werewolf’s arm.

“Step out,” she ordered with a side smile, and Liam did as was told.

“Gee, it’s nice to be outside,” Liam had to cover his eyes from the blinding morning sun.

“So, _Liam_ …” the banshee asked when they were out in the yard, surrounded by derelict buildings.

“Oh, no. I know that tone.” Even if he was now outdoors, Liam felt like he had been cornered into a trap.

“Why has Scott gone with Isaac to see Coach?” Lydia asked with all her mock innocence and Liam instinctively froze where he stood.

“Surely Stiles has told you already?” Liam said cautiously. He was not sure why, but he was not happy to talk about the Dreamlands to anyone other than Isaac and Stiles. It felt to him like the first rule of _Fight Club_.

“Relax, Liam, this is not an interrogation,” the banshee, who was still linked arm in arm with Liam, let him go and turned around to face him. “He has told me about the Pilgrims and about Isaac’s brother.” _So much for_ Fight Club _,_ Liam thought. “But I want to know what you think.”

“Me?”

Over the last years Liam had come to accept that his role in the pack was to punch and maul things down with Scott. He was happy with that, and whenever he had an idea he ran it through Mason first, in case it was something too obvious, or too stupid. Normally, if someone wanted to know what he thought about something, it was Scott who asked, so that Lydia wanted to know his opinion was an unsettling change.

“Yes, you.”

The beta paused for a second. At least Lydia was trying to sound reassuring, and Liam believed her.

“It feels… it feels like he wants us to help them fight off the witch that wanted to keep us out of the Dreamlands. She is probably going to do something big and bad with Nyarlathotep. I- I- I’m not really sure, but I have the impression we are ten or twelve moves behind in some sort of cosmic game against, erm… well, _him_. Didn’t the sleepers mention yesterday that for the ritual they needed Isaac to do something in the Dreamlands too? No chance this is all a coincidence…”

Lydia nodded silently as she thought. Yes, Demetria had said that he needed to do something for them in the Dreamlands, but had never specified what. Now she knew that what the dreamwalkers (Isaac in particular) would have to do was to block the Wolf Star light in the Dreamlands. Deaton had assured him that there was nothing lost in translation: he and Aurelius agreed that the _Book of Eibon_ said precisely that. In order for the ritual to work in their world, the power of the Wolf Star would have to be completely nullified in the Dreamlands. Hopefully Coach would know how that could be done, because blocking a star from the sky seemed impossible.

The banshee was putting her thoughts in order before she could explain them to Liam, but she was interrupted by a text message before she could say anything else.

<Isaac> 26/07/2020 09:11

Soooo

<Isaac> 26/07/2020 09:11

I’m texting you bc Scott is too busy freaking out

<Isaac> 26/07/2020 09:11

And I know you’ll appreciate the irony

<Lydia> 26/07/2020 09:12

Isaac Lahey

<Lydia> 26/07/2020 09:12

Don’t test my patience

<Isaac> 26/07/2020 09:12

PETER IS BACK

<Isaac> 26/07/2020 09:13

And apparently we’re going to need his help

<Isaac> 26/07/2020 09:13

:3

<Lydia> 26/07/2020 09:13

[message deleted]

<Lydia> 26/07/2020 09:14

[message deleted]

<Lydia> 26/07/2020 09:15

[message deleted]

<Lydia> 26/07/2020 09:16

fine

***

Scott, Isaac, and Jackson were again sitting in Coach’s living room, although this time the circumstances were very different. Scott was looking more and more worried at Coach as he went on a long explanation that Peter interrupted every now and then, contradicting whatever the teacher had said so he could add his own point of view. Isaac, meanwhile, fought very hard to supress a hysteric cackle because the story they were hearing was just the cherry turd on top of the shit cake they were dealing with. Jackson just seemed annoyed because he wanted to go back to Ethan.

“Who are you texting?” Scott whispered into Isaac’s ear when he caught his boyfriend messaging on his phone.

“Lydia.”

“Why?”

“Because I either vent it out onto someone who will understand me or else I’m going to crash,” Isaac said in his nervous tone that Scott had learnt to know meant he was not joking.

“Anything you want to share with the rest of the class?” Peter mocked, interrupting Coach’s angry rant about rules being broken.

“Actually, yes,” Isaac was not going to back off from Peter – not today. He stood up.

“Please, by all means enlighten me. Have you brought some evil aliens back home again?”

Isaac laughed aloud nervously, but Scott held his wrist to calm him down because his claws were beginning to come out. Isaac looked down at his boyfriend and with a simple gaze told him that he was okay and in control.

“Let me get this straight: _I’m_ the one who has broken the rules because I’ve told my pack about the shitstorm that is about to happen in the Dreamlands with the witch and her end-of-the-world summoning of an Outer God, but _you_ can go and find Peter Hale so he can help us?”

“Isaac, yet again, you hurt me,” Peter took this chance to focus the attention on him. “Why don’t you believe I’ve changed? Wasn’t last summer proof enough?” he added, but his sincerity was spoiled by his obvious need to tease.

“Yeah… I wasn’t around for a few years, so I still need to learn to trust you further than I can throw you.”

“Babe,” Scott intervened. “Peter really wants to be helpful—”

“Whenever it suits him,” Isaac spat.

“Believe me, the last thing I want to do tonight is venture with you on a bear hunt expedition to the Dreamlands,” Peter clarified. “And call me selfish, but I do have an interest in the world not coming to an end.”

“Well, it seems you haven’t got a choice,” Jackson stood up, siding with Isaac. Scott shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

“ _Nobody_ here has a choice,” Coach interrupted before the discussion got any more out of hand.

It might have been uncomfortable, but that was the truth. Everyone in the room knew that Peter had been in a coma after the Hale House fire. Everyone knew that he had been fully cognizant, even if not his proper self, all through those years. But what Scott and his packmates did not know was that Coach had played a key role in Peter’s survival.

Without revealing too much about the what’s, when’s and how’s of his own past, Bobby Finstock admitted that he knew about the supernatural, even if he always refused to learn the actual details. After all, he was an Oneiric Pilgrim and his jurisdiction ended with his first morning coffee. In any case, he knew that the Hales were important for Beacon Hills because they protected the nemeton, so when he heard that the only Hale left in Beacon Hills was fighting for his life, he felt obliged to do something about it. Peter’s conscious self, apparently, was slowly dwindling and disappearing in his own coma, drifting away into oblivion in a dream world of his own. Coach made his way into Peter’s dream and offered him a chance to survive: Bobby could lead Peter to a remote liminal area of the Dreamlands, where his consciousness would still be alive and safe. Peter gladly and very quickly accepted, even when Finstock explained what this exchange implied and what the price would be: that one day he would come back, asking for a favour, and he would not be allowed to refuse.

“So if now you can put your werewolf disagreements on the side, maybe we can see what we all can do to save the world from ending,” Coach concluded.

The four werewolves looked at each other with resignation, which for Scott’s pack seemed to be the general mood whenever they needed to do something with Peter. Despite Isaac’s concerns, Peter had been doing his best to redeem himself, even if Scott had not been very receptive.

“I think this is something that we all need to discuss together,” Scott concluded. “Because we still do not know what the nemeton ritual is going to be, how it links with whatever you need to do in the Dreamlands, or what exactly we need to do.”

“And what do we do to get my brother back,” Isaac underlined, not letting anyone forget that.

“What other ritual?” Peter asked arching an eyebrow – they had only discussed what Peter had to do with the other dreamwalkers, and nobody had mentioned any of the other things that had been happening.

Isaac’s eyes lit up and he grinned savouring the moment, but before he could gloat at the former alpha, Scott stepped up and spoke. “Do you know anything about the Hounds of Tindalos?”

***

When Ethan was ready to walk again and Dr Geyer was happy for him to leave, the Sheriff sent him and Malia to the silo where everyone was gathering. He checked the time and decided to give Parrish a call.

“Morning?” a drowsy voice came through.

“Parrish, you ready?”

“What happened?” Jordan replied much more alert now.

“Plenty, but I need you to meet me at 2370 Maple drive. When can you be there?”

“Twenty.”

The sheriff waited around the hospital until a few more deputies arrived and Liam’s father assured him that he had everything under control before getting into his car. By the time he got to the address he had received from the records office, Parrish was already waiting for him.

“So, according to the string of texts I’ve just received,” Jordan explained, “that creature turned up at the hospital and Liam nearly died in his sleep? Why would you not call me earlier?”

“You basically did a double shift yesterday, and I feel you might have to pull another one today. Giving you eight hours’ sleep was the least I could do.”

“Why are we here then, Sheriff?” Parrish was still confused. “Shouldn’t we be trying to help out with this Hound?”

“That is what we’re doing, son,” the Sheriff clapped Jordan’s shoulder and walked up the gravel path to the front door of the property. The deputy followed, but when the Sheriff knocked on the door, it opened.

“Okay, why are we here?” Jordan said, lowering his voice and reaching for his gun. Noah did the same.

“This is the address of one Susan Walker, nurse at Beacon Memorial,” the Sheriff explained as he advanced with caution into the seemingly empty house. “Her car was located earlier this morning right outside the cordoned-off area. Malia could track her scent climbing up the hill towards the Beacon Tower and the cave…”

“Sir,” Parrish stood still and pointed at the sofa. “I can smell blood.”

The sofa looked cleaned, but Jordan insisted that the smell came from underneath, so the pushed it aside and noticed the irregular surface of the carpet badly concealed under the couch. It did not take them long to find a tag on the corner of the fitted carpet to pull. Under the carpet there was a sheet of plastic, and under the plastic…

“Jesus wept,” Noah scrunched his face in disgust. Jordan’s eyes flared orange, and his distinctive smell of soot and sulphur slowly inundated Susan Walker’s living room.

What they saw was very clearly the remains of some sort of witchcraft or occult ritual. There were traces of a pentagram drawn in chalk on the floor, but the chalk had reacted with what Parrish guessed was the blood, forming a foamy orange crust that had very evidently burned the wooden floorboards. To the side, they also found an elongated s-shaped, thin, metallic tube (which was also stained in blood) discarded carelessly.

“Can you… _sense_ something else?” the Sheriff asked as he stepped back, hoping that from a different angle he might be able see something else.

“I’ll go have a look,” the deputy nodded slowly as he scanned the living room one last time before moving on to a different room.

The Sheriff took his phone out and began to take pictures. As he was sending them to his son, Parrish came from upstairs carrying what looked like a muddy blanket.

“Please don’t…” Noah begged, hoping that that rag was not what he thought it was. But Parrish could not answer: he just held the item until it was clear that it was a grey hooded cloak, the same cloak that the cultists had worn during the previous summer’s rituals, and covered in the same bloody mud that had puddled all around the nemeton.

“Sir…?”

“ _Shit_.”

***

By noon everyone had reconvened back in the silo, the rounded and sufficiently corner-less space where they had been hiding for the last twenty-four hours. Deaton with Mason, Lydia and Stiles, and the seven sleepers. Scott, Isaac, and the other werewolves, including an unexpected Peter Hale. Sheriff Stilinski and Deputy Parrish. And, to almost everyone’s surprise, Bobby Finstock, who from the very beginning warned everyone that he wanted to know the least possible so he could go back to his ignorant bliss. Each of them, individually or in groups, seemed to be competing to see who could break the worst news to the rest.

So far, they had accepted Mason’s calculations that, whatever ceremony they needed to perform at the nemeton, it had to happen that very night after sunset whenever the Wolf Star rose above the horizon. The prophecies and instructions in the ancient texts and Lydia’s Etruscan sleep-writ confirmed it: that night was when the stars were right – although not necessarily right for them. This of course raised a main problem: that they would have to carry out a ritual at the nemeton while stopping another ritual in the Dreamlands (and rescuing Camden along the way). The stars were right in more than one dimension, apparently. The fact that the person who was trying to summon Nyarlathotep into the Dreamlands to probably delete all existence was the last surviving cultist from last summer simply added unnecessary drama.

It did not take long for Jackson and Ethan to realise what this meant in practical terms, so they both waited patiently for Scott to propose a plan and Isaac to object to it.

“I hate to say this but we’re gonna need to split—”

“Do _NOT_ split the party!” Isaac said, while Ethan and Jackson joined in unison. Isaac glared daggers at them, but Ethan just winked back and blew him a kiss.

“Isaac,” Stiles intervened. “I’m never one to agree with your boyfriend here, but he does have a point. If Coach is right—”

“I _am_ right!” Bobby yelled.

“—we are going to do our best in the Dreamlands to stop that cultist, and in order to do that we need to enter physically.”

“Besides,” Deaton added calmly, trying to appease Isaac, “that would be the only way in which you can bring your brother back.”

Isaac did not like the idea at all. Splitting the group meant fewer people to tackle whatever monster they had to face, whether a byakhee or a Tindalos hound, or whatever other nasty surprises were waiting for them. It also meant leaving Scott on the surface while he had to descend (according to Coach’s description) a spiral staircase concealed under the old Spanish tower – the same steps that the cultist had clearly used the night before.

“You will be with Stiles and Liam—” Scott tried to reason, but he was cut short.

“Liam cannot come,” Coach added.

“Why not?” the beta asked, offended. He was being benched twice in a day.

“If you have a target on your back for the Hound you better not come with us, unless you want the Hound to follow you there and then we’d all be _really_ screwed.”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“Stay here and fall asleep. And help us while you’re dreaming,” Coach clarified.

“Isn’t that the same?” Liam was confused.

“You can fall asleep and be in the Dreamlands,” Peter said before Bobby said something he would regret. He looked at Isaac, trying to show that he really wanted to help, although the beta was still on the fence about him. “We will enter directly into the Dreamlands, so we can use our full potential and hopefully that’ll give us the upper hand… if we don’t die.”

“Hrmph—what? Die?” Stiles nearly choked.

“If you’re sleeping and you get badly hurt, you wake up. Which is what happened last night with Liam,” Coach explained while rubbing his temples. “If you walk in there and get actually hurt… you may not come back.”

“And the same goes for our wolves,” Peter told Isaac in particular, explaining the big omission of Coach’s explanation.

“So if our wolves die… we stop being werewolves?” Isaac said very slowly, not really liking this idea at all.

“Your wolf self will cease to be,” Deaton chipped in. “So yes, your lycanthropy will be cured. But the psychological trauma that is associated with this type of ‘cure’ by proxy will not be something to look forward to. It could be fatal.”

“Oh, _fantastic_.”

The discussion went on for longer, with Isaac torn between the need to go and find his brother and to stay to protect his boyfriend and his pack. Eventually, and after much persuasion, everyone seemed to agree that Isaac and Stiles would go down the stairs to the Dreamlands with Peter and Coach. They would rendezvous with Liam (who would have to enter the Dream realm while he slept) there. Chris and Parrish would accompany them as far as they could, in order to protect the entrance. When all this was translated to the time travellers, Demetria stood up with excitement and handed the dreamcatcher they had received from the natives in the 1700s over to Isaac, who accepted it with confusion.

“You will need this in your quest,” Deaton translated Demetria’s quick explanation. “This is a powerful artifact that can protect you in the Dreamlands.”

Isaac held it up to appreciate the soft leather used to curve the wood, the sinews and beads that formed the netting, and the feathers that hung from the hoop. Stiles and Liam approached him to get a closer look to the talisman they would be needing later.

“Uh… thank you,” he said still half-confused. He passed it over to Coach hoping he would know what that was. Bobby Finstock inspected if for a few seconds and told his former student to keep it safe.

That distribution of tasks meant that the rest of the pack had to walk into the preserve by sunset in order to prepare the ritual.

“I still don’t like the idea,” the Sheriff expressed what many were thinking. “Is the answer really to perform an occult ritual? Didn’t all this begin with one? And, to be fair, I think I saw enough rituals last year…”

“It’s really a pity that I’ve got to miss all the Latin singing and the carving of runes around a dead goat.”

“ _Isaac_.”

“No, Scott,” Isaac objected. “This is precisely what you are going to be doing tonight. Are we sure the only way is to trust these old books? Are you sure that you want to use Liam as bait to keep the creature from following us?”

“Isaac,” this time it was Lydia who tried to reason with the werewolf. “Trust us, this is the best we can do with the time we’ve got.”

“Does anyone else feel that this is precisely what Nyarlathotep wants?” Isaac blurted. “Isn’t it too convenient that both in the Dreamlands and up here there are going to be two rituals opening a portal into the beyond? Nurse Walker at least is honest enough with her intentions, but how do we know we are not just falling into a trap?”

Isaac started panting. It was all too much. On top of his brother being trapped by some sick joke of destiny (of _actual_ , honest, godly-designed destiny) there was the cosmic magic and the opening of portals. He had fought against the Hound, but he had also had an encounter with Nyarlathotep. The phrase ‘better the devil you know’ definitely had acquired a new meaning. He began to feel lightheaded and he walked away from their discussion to get some fresh air outside the silo. Scott tried to follow, but Isaac asked him to please leave him alone for a second.

“Scott, please, just give me a second.” Isaac said when he sensed someone following him outside.

“Yeah… that might work with McCall, but you won’t get rid of me that easily,” Jackson said as he carefully closed the door of the silo as he stepped out.

“Oh, great. It’s you,” Isaac groaned.

“Well, it was either me or Stiles, so tough.”

Isaac frowned but did nothing when Jackson sat by his side on a pile of old sacks of cement.

“I can’t understand you,” Jackson said as he pulled out a bottle of water.

“Thank God for Jackson Whittemore,” Isaac snarled. “What would I do without him?”

“You’d probably still be back in France running errands for the Argents rather than that here with Scott. By the way – you’re welcome,” Jackson said flatly. Isaac was about to storm away when Jackson held his wrist and pulled him back down. “And what I _mean_ is that I can’t understand you because I don’t have a long-lost brother trapped in a different dimension and I don’t have to leave my boyfriend behind to rescue him.”

“If I wanted cryptic-helpful I would’ve asked Deaton.”

“Okay, enough. Do you trust Scott?”

“I do,” Isaac admitted, although the memories from the previous weeks had partially undermined his own conviction. “I just don’t trust this ludicrous idea. Can’t you see what’s going to happen?”

“No, and neither can you,” the former kanima jabbed Isaac’s chest with his finger. “It’s rich coming from me, but you should trust us all. We’re a pack.”

“Now you sound like Derek,” Isaac was still defensive, but it was not full rejection anymore.

“Yeah well, I’m his first beta. I’ve endured more of him,” Jackson blatantly lied, making his friend chuckle. “This actually I’ve learnt from Ethan. And from Scott, but I’d never admit having said that. Last summer when we were at the nemeton, ankle deep in bloodied mud while fighting cultists and aliens, Scott broke through a mountain ash barrier because we were all working together—”

“Tonight we won’t _be_ together.”

“Lahey!” Jackson was losing his temper, that was never long to start with. Isaac looked at his friend, who clearly wanted to help him, really trying to show he cared, even with his innate inability to communicate feelings. The blond werewolf immediately remembered why he liked the other beta – they were too similar. “We will be together.”

Jackson looked embarrassed and furious as he was forced to show his actual emotions to make his friend get his head out of his arse. With a short huff, he closed his eyes and reached to him through their pack bond. Their two inner wolves recognised each other and nagged and played for a brief instant, until Isaac’s wolf felt calmed enough to allow Isaac to calm down too.

“Now get back in there,” Jackson said as he walked briskly away. Despite himself, Isaac smiled and followed him.

***

“Come on, Isaac. Sunset is in half hour!” Chris called from the bottom of the stairs.

Somehow an entire day had passed. They spent most of it in the silo, discussing the plan for the night; from who was going where to what the actual chants and symbols that had to go on the nemeton should be. Isaac had made his best efforts to block that from his mind, because all of this ritual stuff still rubbed him the wrong way. But he got the basic idea that the ritual would open a portal, and they would just have to find a way of banishing the Hound through it.

It was now almost eight o’clock in the evening. They had gone back to the McCall house so Chris and Scott could have a power nap (they had had a very early and intense morning, after all), but Isaac had not wanted to fall asleep just in case. They also went there so Chris could kit himself up, and now Isaac and Scott were sat on their old bed, hands laced together, trying to delay the inevitable.

“I’m still not happy about this,” Isaac mumbled. “But I’ve hyped myself for this and Chris is waiting, so we should get going.”

Despite what he said, Isaac made no attempt to leave Scott’s side.

“You remember last year when you fell down that cave?” the alpha said after a few seconds.

“A bit unnecessary, isn’t it?” Isaac chuckled at the traumatic memory.

“You remember what I told you then?”

“You called me an idiot.”

“I call you an idiot when you act like one, which is surprisingly often for a werewolf knight,” Scott smiled. “I told you I’d never let you rot down that cave.”

“We’re not going down mi-go central,” Isaac joked only to mask his fear. “It’s not really a cave we’re going into either…”

Scott interrupted before Isaac could make another nervous, smartarse joke. “If I have to go down to the Dreamlands to drag you and Stiles and your brother back, no Outer God is going to be able to stop me.”

Isaac squeezed his boyfriend’s hand in his and turned to nuzzle his nose against Scott’s neck. He felt their inner wolves mirroring the gesture, and their shared bond filled their chests with warmth.

“I know,” was all that the beta could say.

“Just remember why you’re going down those steps,” Scott turned so he was facing his boyfriend. “You’re doing this to get your brother back; to bring him home and get your family finally together.”

“And to save the world,” the beta added casually.

Scott smiled as he rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he looked back, Isaac’s eyes were glowing golden yellow. Despite the joking and the doubting, his boyfriend was now calm, irradiating purpose and determination. He knew what he had to do, he knew why he was doing it for, and Scott knew deep inside that nothing would dare stand in his way. Scott wondered for a second if his werewolf knightly ancestors had given him some extra confidence. All of this made Scott very proud and extremely lucky and, this time, it was the alpha’s eyes that involuntarily glowed red in response. He could not stop himself and he cupped Isaac’s face and brought him into a kiss.

“Isaac!” Chris called again, and the two werewolves pulled themselves apart.

“Better get going,” Isaac said as he stood up. Scott did the same.

“You know what you’re doing?” the alpha asked in general to Chris and Isaac when they were all by the front door.

“Anything goes wrong, I’ll punch Liam awake, and you’ll be the first to know.”

“It was bad enough when I had to put two of you in a body bag,” Melissa said from the living room, biting her nails, and clearly not happy with the plan. “I think this is even worse, because if something goes wrong I won’t even have a body to—”

“Mum,” Isaac interrupted and she pulled him into a hug.

“You make sure to come back. For all of us,” she whispered into his hair.

“I’ll be fine,” he gave her a kiss and pushed her slowly away from him. “Ready Chris?”

“Let’s get going,” the hunter said as he moved in to kiss Melissa, his bag full of kit hanging from his shoulder.

Isaac took this chance to get another cuddle from Scott.

“Be careful out there tonight,” he whispered into his alpha’s ear.

“I’m going to have an entire pack… you’re going to have Coach and Peter.”

“Oh great… thanks for reminding me,” Isaac rolled his eyes, but Scott brought him in for a last kiss. Chris was already opening the door.

“I love you, idiot.”

“I love you too. To the moon and back,” Isaac winked as he walked away and followed Chris out to the car.

“Was it like this every time I…” Scott began to say to his mother once the black SUV drove away down the road, but he did not know how to finish.

“Yes,” Melissa replied anyways, knowing well what her son meant and bringing him into a side hug as they looked out the door. “But you always came back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep... this is the last chapter where the pack will all be together for a while. I can't blame Isaac for not liking it...


	27. Into the City of Pillars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac was about to argue, but he brought his eyes up from the ground and saw that right in front of them there was, suddenly, a long colonnaded avenue. The flagstones and the porticoes to the sides were long gone, and the buildings that must have once flanked this street had crumbled to low walls and abandoned ashlars providing meagre shade to lizards and scorpions.
> 
> OR: Isaac, Stiles, Peter, and Coach venture into the Dreamlands to meet Liam and Camden so they can stop the cultist's summoning of Nyarlathotep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter I've reached a total of 500k words of fanfic in 13 months! :O

The Sheriff pulled all of his strings to secure that the preserve and the archaeological sites were still cordoned off for the evening. Not that they were that attractive places to visit overnight (and the local population seemed less inclined to leave their homes in the evenings nowadays), but in Beacon Hills it payed to be extra careful.

Isaac and Chris parked their car at the small car park that gave access to the old Spanish tower, where the rest of their group were already waiting: Coach, Peter, Stiles and his father, who had come simply to make sure everything was in place.

“Are we all ready, then?” Parrish asked with his hand firmly on the police tape that fenced off the access. Everyone nodded silently, and the deputy ceremoniously lifted the tape so everyone could walk up the path.

“How long have you known about this tower’s dreamy connection?” Stiles asked Coach with a newly acquired familiarity, which Bobby was not willing to reciprocate.

“Well… I’ve always known about the tower. I guess I learned that the tower had a connection when I first became a dreamwalker.”

“Yes, but how is it that nobody else knew?”

“Well… the connection disappeared when the nemeton was de-powered. Years ago.”

“Yes, I get that,” Stiles went on. The short walk from the car park to the actual tower was taking far longer than Coach had ever imagined. “But why is it that it just only now is accessible.”

“Why do you need to know?” Coach was beginning to really reconsider whether saving the world was worth having to endure Stiles. “And why are you bringing a bat?” he added when he noticed the improvised weapon.

“Oh, force of habit,” Stiles quickly answered. “But when did the _connection_ —”

“Enough, Stilinski!”

“Stiles, give the man a rest,” the Sheriff called.

Bobby kept walking ahead, leaving his former student with his mouth gaping, like a fish out of water, affronted at his father siding with Finstock.

“Come on, Stiles,” Isaac said as he threw an arm over his shoulders and guided him up the path.

“Okay, you two are a hundred-percent sure of what you are doing?” Coach asked Chris and Parrish once they were all inside the remains of the tower.

“No,” Chris admitted. “But I’m packing these,” with that he dropped his canvas bag to the gravel floor with a heavy, metallic clinking thud.

“Well, just remember: we will go down the stairs and nothing else _at all_ follows us,” Coach said as he waved his hands for further emphasis. “Of all nights, tonight is when we cannot let anyone or anything else get in. And you wait until we come back. Anything goes wrong, we’ll let you know through Liam.”

Chris made a point of checking his phone for signal and battery, and Parrish did the same.

“Correct,” was the hunter’s short reply.

“Also, for you noobs, remember that when we go down the stairs we will enter physically in the world of Dreams. You will be crossing into a different dimension that exists as a collective consciousness of all dreamwalkers, past, present, and future. When you walk in you will notice the transition, especially if you’re a werewolf,” he pointed at Isaac and Peter. “Also, rules: no using real names, but you know that, and you will be mindful of what you dream, and you will keep your emotions in check because you will be able to alter the dreams.”

“That’s _so_ cool,” Stiles could not resist it.

“I mean it – you have been dreaming in your own little bubble but you’re entering the big boys league now. Oh, and leave your phones with Mr Argent. You’ll thank me later…”

Isaac found that far more unsettling than it was reassuring, but before Stiles could ask more impertinent questions, Chris intervened.

“The sun is already setting. You should get going.”

With that Coach nodded silently as he looked on the floor, looking around until he caught a glimpse of the trap door. He closed his eyes and felt with his hands until he grasped the heavy iron ring and pulled it open. Isaac and Stiles looked down at the very dark and very deep shaft that framed the spiral staircase. Bobby was the first to go down, soon followed by Peter. Stiles lingered around for a second as he said goodbye to his father.

“You know what you’re doing?” Chris asked as he clasped his hand on Isaac’s shoulder.

“ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_ ,” the werewolf replied with a smirk. Chris patted Isaac’s shoulder twice, before letting him go without saying any more.

“You two take care of each other,” the Sheriff added when Stiles began his descent, torch flashing his way down.

“Will do, pops.”

Finally, Isaac turned his own torchlight on and grabbed the door behind him. He gave Chris, Noah and Jordan one last wave, and he shut the trap door.

“What do we do now?” Parrish asked after a few silent seconds. The trap door through which their friends had descended was not visible anymore; only a heavy iron ring remained anchored firmly to the ground as a ghostly reminder of what was there.

Chris put his hands on his hips and looked around. Far to the west, the sun was already set under the horizon, Mercury shining dimly just above it. The moon was already visible to his left, but he turned a full 180º around to check the gloomy, purple-blue eastern horizon, where the Wolf Star might start shining at any point.

“We get ready,” the hunter said as he knelt down and opened his bag.

“Is that going to work against this creature?” the Sheriff asked a he pointed at the jar of mountain ash.

“Hopefully, if we make a proper circle.”

Chris also produced out of his bag a pair of infrared goggles and his guns.

“Are you going to stay around, Sheriff?” Parrish asked as Mr Argent began to pour the black wood ash in a circle around the iron ring that marked the entrance.

“I think I will head back to the station and coordinate from there.” The station was roughly half-way between the tower and the preserve.

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Keep me posted on anything that happens,” Noah ordered with a smile before leaving the two men behind.

“What now?” Parrish asked Chris once he saw that the mountain ash circle was complete, sealing the entrance in and leaving them out.

“Now?” Argent managed to smile. He pulled two three-legged camping stools and a big thermos flask from his kit bag. “Now we play the waiting game, and keep our eyes on the corners.”

***

Scott yawned. The alpha was beginning to feel the exhaustion in his body. They had woken up too early that morning, and they had been in a fight with an ethereal creature and in a long and intense series of meetings and discussions. Now he was wishing he had taken a longer nap.

“I don’t understand this,” Liam sat by Scott on a fallen tree trunk as they watched the preparations for the ritual that was about to unfold around the nemeton. “Why do I have to go to sleep when there is going to be a fight right _here_!”

“You’re the only one who can go and help them,” Scott admitted, not without regret. He really wished he could help Isaac, because now he felt useless, abandoning his boyfriend on a deadly mission to another dimension.

“You’re yawning. You could go to sleep. I’m so hyped and nervous I doubt I’ll be able to lie down still. How am I supposed to fall asleep with all this shit going on around me? And where am I going to sleep?”

That was a question that Liam had asked already earlier that day. He had accepted the fact that he was going to be asleep while the ritual took place (all to help his fellow dreamwalkers). But it was not as if he was going to just lie on the ground. He had already spent one night in a sleeping bag in a concrete factory.

“Oh,” Scott suddenly remembered something and smiled. “Malia is bringing something for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, for you!” Malia called as she approached her two friends with long steps. “Here,” she said with a smug smile as she handed Liam a plastic bag.

“What’s this?” Liam asked as he put his hand in. He could feel ropes and fabric, and—

“It’s a straitjacket.” Liam dropped the bag as if it was burning him and was about to have serious words with Malia, but she was already chuckling and picking the bag up.

“It’s a hammock, you dumbass. I got it from my dad’s porch. And a rope ladder…”

Malia gave Scott one end as she kept hold of the other and pulled until Liam could see that it was, in fact, a canvas hammock to tie to a tree with some blankets.

“Geez, thanks, Malia. I wasn’t expecting that…” he said, a bit lost for words.

“That’s okay. Let me find two trees to secure it to.”

“Oh, hang on, wait. I don’t think I could possibly fall asleep now!”

“Ah, well…” Scott said with an unusually guilty voice. “I too got something for you.”

“You?” Malia and Liam asked simultaneously, although one with far more humour than the other.

“Yeah. I’m a vet, don’t you know?” and with that and an even guiltier smile, Scott pulled out from his pocket a small tub with some pills.

“ _Great_. Oh, and what’s the rope ladder for?”

Scott and Malia looked at each other, the former with guilt, the latter with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

***

Suddenly, being the last one going down the spiral staircase did not seem to be such a great idea. Isaac paced up until he caught up with Stiles and then, together and silently, they continued their descent.

The darkness, despite their torches, was claustrophobic: everything in every direction was exactly the same hue of lightless black pierced only by cones of light floating in the pitch-black infinity. Isaac thought best to keep his right hand against the wall, which at least would anchor him to something tangible while everything else seemed unreal.

Isaac had been planning all evening to say that ‘the descent into hell is easy’, which was a quote he had read in the _Mortal Instruments_ books but he was going to show off and say he knew it was Virgil, just to troll Stiles. But his mouth was dry and he could barely speak. He was also sure that his claws were about to scratch the wall, and he feared that if he lost control and really regressed to _a dark claustrophobic place he was most definitely not going to think about_ he might end up sitting down on the step whimpering and rocking.

“Relax, Isaac,” Peter said from a handful of steps further down. “I can hear your heart and can smell your anxiety.”

“Fuck off, Peter,” Isaac did not really mean it, but he was as tense as a bowstring.

“ _Charming_. Stiles, help your friend before he snaps, will you?” he said and turned around so that two ice-cold glowing eyes were staring back at him.

Disagreeing with the tone, but acknowledging the message, Stiles walked up a couple of steps until he was side by side with Isaac. There was not much space to manoeuvre, and Isaac was close to coming to a halt. Coach yelling to hurry up did not help either.

“Hey, hey, hey, listen to me, Isaac,” Stiles put his torch in his mouth and his hands on Isaac’s elbows carefully, and then made sure his friend was looking at him. The werewolf’s eyes were already beta yellow. “Okay, okay. Buddy, please, I need you to focus on Scott. Scott is your anchor, right?”

Isaac closed his eyes and nodded. Slowly. He focused on Scott, on how he kept him grounded. He thought about his safe space in their flat in Davis. About their bedroom and how he always joked about Isaac having way too many pillows on his side. About how he bragged some mornings of ‘cooking breakfast’ whenever he microwaved a burrito or put bread in the toaster. _How come_ I’m _the idiot?_

“Smiling?” Stiles said, bringing Isaac back from his zone. The beta opened his eyes and saw his friend smiling at him. “Good, good. We need to keep going, man, but I’m going to let you go ahead,” he squeezed past his friend until he was on the step above, “and I’m going to keep my hands on your shoulders, okay?” Isaac nodded. “And we are going to walk down the stairs together. You just hold my bat, will you?”

The rest of the descent was easier, even if it was simply because Stiles was there for him. But it was long. Even Stiles gave up counting the number of steps when he got to 326. Time must have passed, but they could not tell how or how much. Eventually they came to the end of the stairs, to a vaulted chamber that was presided by a large door.

“Leave the torches here, and anything you may need on the way back,” Coach warned as he left his light neatly at the base of the steps.

Peter looked with apprehension at the archway ahead. Isaac could see his figure silhouetted by the blue light that came from under the door, and all his body language and chemosignals were screaming not fear, but doubt.

“Just to get things clear one last time,” Isaac heard him whispering to Coach. “I do this, and you won’t need my help down here again?”

“That’s the deal,” Coach was surprisingly cool for a man that was being somehow threatened by a werewolf.

Peter straightened up for a moment before moving to the side, letting Coach walk ahead. “Lead the way,” he added.

Coach then pushed the door open and walked out, soon followed by Peter. Isaac and Stiles looked at each other for a final dose of mutual reassurance, nodded, and walked through the threshold.

“You’re here!” a voice called them from a side. They were at the base of the tower they had come through last night, and while Isaac could remember everything quite clearly, this time everything seemed neater, sharper, and brighter.

“Cam!” Isaac went to give his brother a hug. His wolf, which must have physically manifested when they crossed into the Dreamlands, joined them, shoving his head in between the two brothers, demanding affection from both.

“What happened to my bat?” Stiles asked to nobody in particular.

When Isaac looked, his old aluminium bat had turned into a wooden hybrid between a paddle and a bat. Their clothes had changed too – they were not wearing what they had worn inside the tower but the weird period clothes that they had on last night. Isaac also saw for the first time Peter’s wolf. While Isaac’s was a combination of dusty greys and reddish browns with curious cream-coloured marks around his neck and along his snout and paws, Peter’s was ashen grey, with specks of pure white and black; its coat was also thicker but marked here and there by scars. One of his ears seemed burnt, just nude skin without any fur. If such a thing was possible, Isaac could swear that the wolf shared with Peter the same poise of haughty disinterest that hid ruthless determination.

“Ah, yeah, that’s why you should leave your phones behind. The transition affects also what you bring with you. It turns into something more… fitting.”

“Man, I really liked that shirt I was wearing!” Stiles moaned as he looked down at his tunic.

“Hang on, where is L—” Isaac bit his tongue before saying Liam’s name, because Coach had somehow magicked (or _dreamt?_ ) his Pilgrim outfit, staff included. “Garrus?”

“Olwyn said she was going to be looking for him,” his brother said. “But we really must get going. I brought mounts for all of us.”

Isaac looked behind his brother and saw that there was, indeed, a handful of animals ready for them. Only that they were not horses.

“Wait, we’re going to be riding into the sunset on _zebras_?” Isaac was not sure if he was excited or terrified.

“We’re going East, not West, but basically yes,” Cam admitted.

“Come on, you’ve all heard the man,” Coach shouted once he had put an end to Peter and Stiles’ bickering. “On your zebras, and hi ho, silver!”

Neither Isaac nor Stiles had ever ridden a horse, let alone a zebra, but they still had no problem climbing up on the stirrup and getting the animal to move, following Cam and Coach, who were surprisingly skilled riders. They rode with their wolves trotting behind them for what seemed hours, but Coach confirmed their suspicions that time flowed at a different rate in the Dreamlands. They also had a chance to practice their _active_ dreaming (or, in Coach’s words, ‘apply some goddamned dreaming logic’), and while it was not creating an entire planet and Dune-themed outfits for him and his friends, by the time they reached their meeting point with Olwyn and Liam, Isaac could conjure up a crossbow.

“There you are!” Liam welcomed them. He was sitting by a fire built against a giant black, polished standing pillar. His wolf had obviously been having a quiet nap, but he hurried to welcome Isaac’s wolf when he caught his scent. “I was getting worried sick. We’ve been here for ages.”

“We haven’t,” Olwyn clarified as she put the fire out with her iron-clad boot. She was wearing the same armour they had seen her wear when they only knew her as the scary zebra knight.

“How’s everything going at the nemeton?” Stiles wanted to know.

“They were getting everything ready, but they knocked me out with some pills, so I can’t tell you much. Ms Olwyn was waiting for me and brought me all the way to this place to wait for you.”

“What exactly is this place,” Peter asked as he got off his zebra and massaged his aching buttocks, his lean, dark wolf never more than a pace behind.

“This is the Glass Obelisk,” Coach explained as he took the saddle and strappings off his mount. “An obsidian marker that warns travellers not to venture any further.”

“Of _course_ it does,” Isaac sighed as he scratched his elbow.

“And why should we not venture any further?” Stiles demanded as he approached to touch the cool, glassy surface of the monolith.

“Because this is the edge of the savanna,” Camden explained. “Beyond here begins the desert that surrounds the lost city of Irem, the ruin of a thousand columns that is plagued by gugs.”

“Are these the same columns where we saw the gates?” Liam whispered into Isaac’s ear, but the taller beta did not know.

“We tracked the byakhee and the cultist all the way to the edge of the city,” Olwyn added. “She has probably descended to the hollow pits of the netherworld—”

“Wait, no, what? Wait. How? Wait a second,” Stiles scrunched his face as he concentrated. “I thought we were already in the underworld?”

“Just because we went down some stairs does not mean we actually went _down_ ,” Coach muttered, summoning all the little patience he had left.

“This is giving me a headache…”

Liam, Isaac, and Camden watched all this exchange from afar, trying to stop themselves from giggling.

“Good” Coach slapped his zebra so it could roam free back to the savanna, and looked at his companions, as if expecting them to do the same. “That may keep your cake hole shut for a while, then.”

***

Galloping across the savanna on zebras had been one thing; sneaking through the dried, dusty soil of the desert beyond the obelisk was another. Liam learnt soon enough that the reason why they had left their mounts behind was because there was no way in hell that they could have dragged an animal into this cursed landscape, which did not fill him or his friends with confidence.

The sun shone on them mercilessly, and while Coach and the mysterious Olwyn (that Isaac knew for certain that he had met, even if he could not remember where or when) used their cloaks to fashion themselves some turbans, Stiles, Liam and Isaac were not so lucky.

“Man, this place is… _hot_!” Stiles moaned.

“Is he always so eloquent?” Cam asked his brother with a smirk.

“He usually is,” Isaac mirrored his brother’s grin.

“Why don’t you try and put your scarf over your head?” Cam told Stiles.

“Oh, ha-fucking-ha, very funny,” Stiles, who was very red and very sunburnt, groaned. “It’s hilarious to tease me, I know, but you’ll find that, _actually_ , it’s your brother the one who always wears a scarf—shit!” he exclaimed in surprise as he noticed that he was, after all, carrying a deep-red, light linen scarf around his neck. “Where did that just come from?”

“I think your dream logic just needed to be kickstarted!”

Stiles looked at Isaac in disbelief as his brother walked ahead, drinking water from his bottle. As Stiles struggled to wrap the scarf around his head, Isaac thought about his _own_ scarves and how it was just _his_ thing to have one. It was then that he noticed that there was a light blue and white scarf on his shoulder. It made sense that he was wearing one, because he almost always did, and even if it felt like the most natural thing in the world, he could have sworn that a second ago he had only been wearing his shirt and his blue doublet.

“Guys! I’ve got one too!” Liam shouted excitedly pointing at the scarf he had also just dreamt about before Olwyn told them to keep it quiet.

The sun reached its zenith and began its long descent towards the west, shining bright behind them. Isaac lost track of time, especially as his only certain points of reference were the slight changes in the horizon that gave him the slightest certainty that they were, indeed, advancing. The heat, the walking, and the sun had all burnt away his eagerness even to chat with his long-lost brother or to tease Liam. Thankfully his wolf was more resilient, and he trotted by Isaac’s side, nudging him with his massive head when he was tired and jumping with excitement whenever the slightest thing caught his attention.

When the pale quarter moon became visible (the only indicator they had seen that confirmed that night was inexorably approaching), Olwyn ordered everyone to stop. Isaac was about to argue, but he brought his eyes up from the ground and saw that right in front of them there was, suddenly, a long colonnaded avenue. The flagstones and the porticoes to the sides were long gone, and the buildings that must have once flanked this street had crumbled to low walls and abandoned ashlars providing meagre shade to lizards and scorpions.

“We’re here,” Olwyn said in a hushed tone and drew her sword. Cam did the same with his long, thin rapier, and Isaac remembered that he had a crossbow, so he got it ready too.

“You stay back, lil’ bro,” Cam told his brother.

Isaac had never liked it when his brother talked to him like that. “A, I’m taller than you are. B, I’m a fucking werewolf.”

“Yeah, and you know shit about this place,” Cam whispered angrily. “You know what gugs are? You know what happens if you get hurt in here?” Despite his apparent anger, and judging by what his wolf could smell, Camden was afraid. Not about the gugs—whatever they were—but for _him_.

“Enough you two,” Coach hushed them. “We need to advance to the end of this avenue up to the remains of that temple,” he pointed at a large sandy-coloured stone structure that rose above the horizon across the sea of ruins. “It should be boring and straight forward enough to get there, but there might be gugs lurking around waiting for… well… us, most likely.”

“So we’re walking into a trap,” Stiles clarified what nobody wanted to hear.

“The real danger will be once we enter into the caves,” Olwyn explained. “There is where the cultist will be strongest, but we must stop her before she carries out her incantation, and before the Wolf Star shines up in the sky.”

The objective was clear, but that was still not a plan, as Peter pointed out, but they did not have much time to argue, because all three wolves turned to the left and lowered their bodies and spiked their hair.

“Those of you who have never seen a gug,” Coach gritted his teeth and gripped his staff, “get ready.”

The wolves howled when the first gug appeared from behind a pile of rubble. A second one soon followed. The creature was big, as in twice a human’s height big, and covered in dark grey fur. Its thick muscly arms bifurcated at the elbow, so that each gug had four clawed hands, but what Isaac found most terrifying were their faces. The gug’s jaws opened vertically, and were long and lined with serrated teeth. The eyes were socketed in two protruding bone structures, one at the side of each jaw, but they seemed milky – almost atrophied.

“They’re largely blind, especially out in the sun,” Cam said as he pulled his long left-hand dagger, “but they can smell you. And they’re big, but they’re slow,” was his final advice.

Olwyn, Coach, and Camden all charged against the first gug, hoping to overwhelm it with their combined attacks, while Liam, Peter, and Isaac directed their wolves towards the second one, trying to keep it from helping its friend.

“What do we do?” Stiles worried. He had only his paddle weapon, and he was clearly not comfortable using it against such a big monster.

“Imagine you’re in _D &D_,” Isaac said as he pulled his crossbow’s trigger. The bolt flew into the creature’s shoulder, although it did not seem to mind much.

“You’re not being helpful.”

“I’m trying to shoot at that thing while keeping my wolf safe from the claws of that other one, man,” Isaac’s voice was muffled by the bolt he was holding in his teeth while he drew the bowstring back to the nut. “Believe _me_ , I’m doing my best to be helpful.”

Stiles bit his lip and thought carefully while Isaac let go of a second bolt, which this time lodged itself inside the first gug’s wide-open mouth. The sharp dart went through the base of the skull with a damp thud, but it took Olwyn to slice its belly open with her sword for the creature to fall flat on its back. Surrounded by wolves that, frustratingly, kept moving in and out of range, the second gug decided to go for a roaring charge towards the space where Liam’s wolf had been. The wolf dodged the monster while the other two jumped on its back, trying to bite its shoulders and neck. For a second it seemed as if the gug was about to catch and badly injure Isaac’s wolf, but Stiles charged into the creature, yelling at the top of his voice and driving some sort of polearm Isaac could not really identify into the gug’s arm pit. The blade came out through the neck with a spray of blood, and the monster fell flat on the ground.

“What the hell was that?”

“Caradoc here said ‘think _D &D_’, so the most logical thing to use by an unskilled warrior against an evil monster was something pointy and with range to keep it away. And then I happened to be holding a halberd in my hand,” Stiles huffed as he felt all the adrenaline rush leaving his body.

“That was a good shot, bro,” Camden admitted to Isaac.

“Yeah, well… it comes with being a hunter.”

“Enough with the bragging,” Coach told them. “That’s just a taster for what’s up ahead.” He sunk his hand into the body of the gug and pulled something out covered in blood. “These things might be virtually blind, but they can smell us, so you all are going to rub this gug blubber on your clothes.”

“ _Ewww_.”

But despite their complains, everyone ended up with a generous dose of bloodied fat rubbed on to their clothes. Even Peter, although he insisted in doing it himself rather than having Finstock smearing the stuff on him.

“This is rank,” Stiles moaned as he retrieved his weapon from the body of the gug.

“And I actually liked this weird medieval outfit,” Liam admitted to Stiles.

“Taliesin, there is something I don’t understand,” Camden asked. “The gugs worship the Gods of Earth. Surely they would not be helping the cultist to keep us away? Aren’t these boys the champions of Nodens or something relevant like that?”

“Gugs are not bright, and can be corrupted with relative ease,” Olwyn said in a low voice from a pile of rubble as she observed the ruins. “These two were probably waiting for us, but there will be more around. We cannot trust our luck to last much longer, so from here to the temple the plan is to sneak.”

***

Chris was lying flat on his belly under a bush, a few meters away from the circle of mountain ash. He was watching through the night with his infrared goggles, thinking how it was impossible to keep an eye on every angle. There were angles _everywhere_. The rocks, the broken branches, the corners of the tower, the posts that held the information about the site… Even the blades of grass and the leaves on the trees had edges! The Hound could materialise out of anything it wanted, if so it chose.

“Anything?” Parrish called over the radio, bringing the hunter out of his thoughts.

“Nothing yet,” Chris replied, and Parrish said he would be walking around the perimeter.

Chris checked his phone. 12.25. No messages from Scott. They had been there for four hours and thankfully there was no trace of the Hound, but there was also no sign of the Wolf Star up in the sky, which was more worrying. All their plan was based on the calculations and predictions that had indicated that _that_ night was _the_ night. Shame they had not bothered to give them a more detailed timetable. The power nap had helped, but it had not been enough.

But rather than letting drowsiness take over him, Chris stood up and had a long gulp from his coffee. He walked from his hiding place to the tower and, from there, took a look at the landscape. The tower stood on the hilltop, so to the southeast he could see Beacon Hills, a gridded mesh of dimly lit streets, paradoxically down in the valley. To the northwest he could see the red marker light that Parish had planted outside the Cave of the Seven Sleepers and, further down the slopes, the agglomeration of houses around the old Spanish mission that formed the settlement of Saint Ignatius. Chris spent a few seconds looking at the point where he could see, if he looked carefully, the white-washed walls of the church where he was going to marry Melissa later that year.

“Argent?” Parrish spoke through the radio.

“I’m here.”

“I can feel something. I’m coming your way.”

“Copy that,” Chris put his infrared goggles on again and pulled his gun out of its holster.

Standing still and crouching down, Chris looked around slowly in a wide circle. He saw a bright pink (warm) splodge walking down towards him, far warmer than any human being, which told him that it was Parrish. But then he saw behind him a deep-blue (cold) shape. At first it was just a small spot, but it grew until it became a broad triangle. Chris took his goggles off and looked through his binoculars. A strange glowing plane was emerging from the corner of a garbage can. The odd plane soon turned into an iridescent mirror out of which a thick and heavy mist poured out.

“Parrish, better hurry up,” Chris called with his walkie-talkie. “And we better call Scott.”

***

As they crossed the ruins of Irem, the party managed to sneak through a handful of gugs and had an open confrontation with three. Behind them the sun disc was already touching the horizon, illuminating the remains of the temple in a dark gold light which soon turned red. The broken remains of the temple, illuminated in this way, contrasted violently with the unnatural purple-black of the darkening sky behind it.

“So, here we are,” Peter snarled as he jumped on the temple platform and crouched. “If any of you has a real plan, I guess this is the moment to share it with the group.”

Olwyn looked back towards the setting sun and cursed when she noticed the unmistakable shapes of gugs giving up their search of the ruins and heading back to their underground sanctuary.

“We will enter the underground sanctum down in the cave. We will set up a barrier behind us to keep the gugs from chasing us.”

“Won’t they be able to get in through somewhere else?” Isaac asked, but regretted opening his mouth immediately, because he could read the answer on Coach’s face. “Oh, I see… that is the only entrance. So we will be locking ourselves in that cave?”

Camden made the same mental connection, so he put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder and squeezed it gently at the same time that his wolf rubbed his neck against Isaac’s chest.

“But there will be gugs in there anyways,” Liam pointed out. “You said they lived in the dark?”

“Yes. There’ll be gugs and probably worse things,” Coach nodded with his arms crossed over his chest. “But it’s better if we know where they are rather than having to keep a constant eye on our backs.”

“And how are we sealing the access in a way that keeps a gug out but that lets us go back through later?” Camden thought he was missing some vital information.

“Oh, we have been given this,” Isaac pulled out the dreamcatcher that the time travellers had given him. “Apparently this will literally catch dreams.”

“That is a very powerful artifact indeed,” Olwyn explained. “It was made with the twigs of a predecessor of your nemeton, and it is tuned to your local ley lines, which means only you can seal the access.”

“How did these people know?” Liam was a bit confused.

“In the same way that us Pilgrims protect the Dreamlands, there are others who make sure that things happen when they need to happen,” was her mysterious answer.

“Are you talking about the _TARDIS_?” Stiles got overly excited.

“No, you oligophrenic imbecile,” Peter scowled. “She’s talking about the Pnakotic Brotherhood… I will be predictable and say that I was never sure if they were just a myth. Anyways, my original question still remains unanswered. We go down those steps and what next?”

“We avoid being overpowered by the cultist minions while stopping her from summoning Nyarlathotep into this world,” Coach deadpanned. “Which has to be before the Wolf Star shines through the oculus of the temple and down on the altar.”

Isaac shook his head and grinned before summarising it in his own words.

“Just your standard in, out, and shake it all about?”

“I don’t care how we do it,” Liam surprised everyone by calling out Isaac’s joke. “But we better do this fast, because that light was not there a moment ago.”

Everyone followed Liam’s finger, which pointed towards the sky. There, hanging half-way up, and glowing with an unnatural green-purple iridescent twinkle was the _stella lupina_. The Wolf Star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final battle is now offcially started!


	28. A game of hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Scott saw at the far end of the path two glowing figures entwined and fighting near the remains of the tower, he stopped for a brief second, only to leave his pack calling out for him to wait for them. By the time he was at the top, he saw Parrish inserting his flaming arm into the ghostly body of the Hound
> 
> OR: Scott and the pack in the awaken world face the Hound one last time.

“Is he asleep yet?” Malia asked Scott when she saw him walking away from the hammock they had set high up in the branches of a tree.

“Yeah. He went out like a light, eventually…” Scott exaggerated a sigh of relief.

Liam had been impossible to put to sleep. He swallowed the two pills Scott had calculated for his weight, but the beta would not lie still and said he refused to wait up in the tree until he started feeling drowsy. Even when Scott forced him to climb up and lie quietly, he would blabber and fiddle with his hammock, and begged Scott to wait with him hanging up on the ladder until he was asleep, which was taking way too long. Eventually, Scott gave him two more pills; either the training vet had not calculated the correct dose or his patient was so hyped and nervous that his werewolf metabolism burnt through the drug. Anyways, Liam was, by then, resting peacefully a few paces beyond the edge of the nemeton grove.

“I really hope this was the best we could do,” Malia pointed at the dark corner where Liam was now softly snoring.

It was not ideal to leave their packmate up there hanging like a lemon, that everyone had agreed (above all Liam), but it was the only location that ticked all their boxes for that night: was nowhere near the tower, not in a room full of corners, close enough to call for help if he woke up with bad news, and far enough so that he would not be kept awake by the chanting around the nemeton.

But it was not only Liam failing to fall asleep that had already disrupted his pre-planned timetable. The sun had set a while ago, but there was still no sign of the Wolf Star. This was on the one hand a small mercy because the nemeton was not ready yet for the ritual. On the other, there was no sign of the Wolf Star which was the entire point of their night ritual, and Scott and his pack were growing restless.

The alpha wanted to think it was a combination of nerves and anticipation, and was willing to accept that there was a degree of fear as well, but Scott could not ignore the gut feeling that this restlessness was also supernatural. He might not be the Wolf Knight, but he could feel his skin crawling and his inner wolf growling and pacing in a way that had never happened when they had faced evil druids or dangerous shapeshifters. Twenty minutes before he had had to give up on trying to keep his eyes from glowing red. A gut feeling told him that his supernatural self was tuning to the upcoming astrologic alignment, which was even more worrying. It was as if his body could tell that their current situation was beyond earthly supernatural: they were facing eldritch cosmic entities that did not belong on the planet.

Of course, the unsettling sensation of déjà-vu the pack as a whole felt was not helping. Scott and Malia involuntarily stopped at the edge of the nemeton, roughly where the thick line of mountain ash that the mi-go cultists had lain the previous year had been. From there they saw how the tables had turned. The nemeton stump was surrounded by candles, which as opposed to the perfectly symmetric bonfires of last year, were placed at apparently-irregular intervals but that fitted within an occult numeric sequence. Mason had been very excited about it, but Scott had decided earlier that day that there was a limit to what he needed to know. The stump itself was slick with olive oil as opposed to the previous year’s sacrificial blood, and one of the time travellers was at that very moment pouring some grey dust over the slippery surface where the stone altar where Christine was sacrificed on had been. Meanwhile, Lydia and Deaton were drawing runes with a mix of salt and powdered juniper berries. Mason was, in the meantime, trying to dig out radial furrows with a spade, which was not different enough from the spirals ploughed by the cultists the previous summer for Scott’s liking. _At least Isaac is not seeing this…_

“All this is _way_ too similar for comfort, Scott,” Malia whispered, her eyes fixed on the ritual preparations. “I think Stilinski did the right thing by staying at the station. I would have preferred not to see anything like this ever again.”

“You don’t have to say that twice,” Scott was more than half-expecting a mi-go to come down from the sky at any second.

“Please tell me nobody has to wear stupid tunics,” Jackson appeared behind them with Ethan. They had gone home for a power nap right after the meeting and now were back ready for a fight, but not truly ready for another cultic stint.

“I can’t answer that, but I don’t want to know,” Scott admitted.

“Where’s your cousin?” Ethan asked Malia when he got to the edge of the grove, but his eyes were focused on the nemeton, clearly sharing with his packmates the same dreadful feeling of having been through all of that already.

The werecoyote checked her phone and typed a quick message. A few seconds later she got a reply.

“He wants to know if he’s coming here or to the tower.”

That had been a difficult decision. They had two key points to protect and not enough people to guard them separately – especially considering that an important proportion of the pack had descended to the Dreamlands.

“Tell him to come here. All the people the Hound is trying to hunt are here…”

***

By the time Derek arrived to the nemeton, Deaton had already changed into what the werewolves had been told was a ‘necessary part of the ritual’. The vet had appeared in what Scott could only assume was his full druidic regalia, which included white ceremonial robes with a red tabard and a golden sickle hanging from his belt.

“Just make sure your boyfriend never hears about it,” Ethan whispered into Scott’s ear. “Or else we will never hear the end of it.”

Scott gulped, because he knew the twin was right. Isaac would bring this up whenever he needed to make a point in any sort of situation, because he would say his ‘remember when I told you about the cult’ both with his sardonic tone in serious situations and with a cocky grin when he just wanted to tease.

“We are ready to begin,” Deaton said aloud. “ _Mox incipiamus_ ,” he repeated. “Once the Wolf Star shines through, we may begin the chanting and the telluric currents will help us open the portal, the trap if you will… but it will take us some time to open it fully, and we will not be able to keep it open for more than a couple of hours. But we need to hold until we get confirmation from Liam that they have stopped the ritual in the Dreamlands,” the druid underlined. “If the Wolf Star is powering that portal, we will not be able to open it successfully.”

“I know, I know. Liam has been told, and he will wake up as soon as they’ve done it.”

“What do we do now?” Jackson, who was with Ethan, Derek, and Malia outside the nemeton grove, called aloud. Scott rolled his eyes, but Deaton smiled gently.

“I think the best we can do now is wait. The best you could do now is search for the Hound.”

Scott heard Jackson exaggeratedly moaning in the distance.

For an hour or so they all remained around the nemeton. Jackson and Ethan sat with Lydia, while Malia and Derek accompanied Mason to the tree where Liam was sleeping. Up in the canopy the werewolf was shifting in his sleep, and mumbling incoherent sounds. Scott, however, took some time to try and speak with Demetria and the other sleepers through Deaton’s translation. Apparently they were ready to open the portal and admitted, with a lot of regret, that they wished they had never travelled so far back.

“What do these Old Ones you are talking about look like?” Scott asked with fake nonchalance when the time traveller mentioned again their first encounter with the Hound.

Demetria looked at the alpha with curiosity, because something in the expression on the werewolf told her that he knew something about these elder beings that had concocted all life on Earth as an experiment that had gone out of hand. She paused for a second, considering whether to tell or not, but in the end she did. Scott listened in silence to this description of the winged creatures with barrel bodies and starfish-heads, staring down to the ground and nodding silently as he hugged his chest. Jut as he had feared: he had seen a creature like that, although not alive. Last summer, down in the caves of the mi-go with Isaac, he had seen a carving depicting the Old Ones. All sorts of questions about the real antiquity of those tunnels and about what he thought he knew about the history of life on Earth flooded him, and for a second he felt short of breath.

“Don’t worry too much, Scott. That is thankfully a thought for another day,” Deaton told him when he saw his old mentee’s scrunched face. Scott nodded, still not saying a word, and with his head down and his shoulders slouching he walked away to think.

***

It was past midnight. Scott and the rest had been walking around the preserve in ever-widening circles, hoping to catch a glimpse or even draw the attention of the Hound, to no avail. Scott was beginning to wonder if the problem was that the Hound was just a mindless creature, a monster without reason. If so, then they were at a complete loss when it came to predict what the Hound might do, because it would just attack wherever it appeared and then search for those humans it had marked.

To make things worse, the Wolf Star was still not out in the sky. He was beginning to doubt whether the calculations had been correct and that they had sent his boyfriend and friends to a potentially deadly mission to the Dreamlands unnecessarily. Other than asking his packmates if they had seen anything every other minute (that is, until Malia told him to be quiet because he was not helping anyone’s mood), he could only check on the nemeton, and every time he rang Lydia or Mason they told him to be patient, which only made him more anxious.

“Are we even sure they are correct about the date? Not even talking about the hour anymore,” Jackson ventured as he threw a stick he had picked from the floor far into the bushes. “Were these signals in some sort of code that they needed to break?”

“I am very ready to trust Lydia in this,” Derek said as he walked around a tree. “I saw the inscription.”

“Oh, you understand Etruscan now?” Jackson mocked. “Sorry, Midnight, I didn’t know we were in _The Order_ now.”

Ethan slapped his boyfriend on the shoulder and told him to stop it. Derek simply shook his head while they argued in hushed tones.

“Do we know at least how we are meant to lure the Hound into the portal?”

That was a good question. In their meeting they had been told that the ritual would open a portal and that they had to push the Hound into it somehow. The details were not very clear, but everyone was working with the assumption that they could fight it and corner it until it backed away from them, but nobody knew if that would work, or how they were going to lure the Hound to the trap. Scott sighed without answering (which did not pass unnoticed) and knelt on the floor to inspect an odd-looking print.

“Don’t bother with that,” Malia said from a few paces away. “That’s a badger. Nasty bastards…” she added with the voice she used whenever she was supressing an unpleasant memory from her full-coyote days.

“Are there badgers in California?”

“Don’t even get me started on those _bastards_ ,” and she walked ahead, leaving Scott wondering what a badger could possibly do to a coyote.

But Scott did not have much time to ponder, because his phone began to ring.

“Chris?”

***

Around the nemeton everything was ready for the ritual, but without a Hound (or a Wolf Star), everything was tensely quiet. Everyone was obviously trying to keep busy around the grove, but the anticipation was palpable. Deaton and Aurelius were reading through the incantations again and gave some final instructions to Hypathia and Themistios about the chant. At the nemeton proper, Heraklios and Anthemios busied themselves by replacing the candles that had burned out, walking carefully around the symbols that created the geometry that would open the portal. Cleomena, in the meantime, had gone to check on Liam, who was still soundly asleep up in his canopy nest, but he had kicked the thin blanket, so she covered him back again with it with all her care.

Lydia was sitting on a log, looking up at the deep blue summer night sky. The Milky Way was just barely visible, although Saturn and Jupiter were easy to spot. And yet, the one heavenly body they were waiting for still was nowhere to be seen. Her boyfriend was down in the Dreamlands risking his life with Coach Finstock and Peter Hale… thankfully Isaac was with him. She knew she could trust the werewolf to take care of him because, in their own odd way, they actually liked each other. On top of that, Scott was running around the preserve with the other supernaturals trying to find the Hound in order to draw it to a trap. And even more, Chris and Parrish had been sent to guard the gate to the Dreamlands to make sure that, whatever happened, the Hound did not cross that other portal. Isaac had been right: they were spread too thin in too small groups. She did not like it at all.

Lydia huffed.

Next to her, Demetria laughed lightly at her frustration. The Greek woman had just been introduced to refined sugar fizzy drinks and was perhaps in a slight sugar high. Her fascination about the cold and bubbly liquid that gave you a surprising kick to keep going was only paralleled by her unexplainable thirst for _more_.

“Do not drink too much of that,” Lydia tried to explain. “It will rot your teeth.”

The Greek woman said something too fast for Lydia to get, so she asked her to repeat more slowly.

“I said, do not fear for your friends, Lydia. I can see you worrying.”

“It’s about the Wolf Star.”

“No it’s not,” Demetria smiled. “You know better than to rush things. This is about your companions. But they will be fine: Blondie is a champion of the gods,” Demetria insisted in calling Isaac _Flavius_ because of his hair, which Lydia found adorable and was seriously considering using it herself.

“That does not fill me with confidence,” Lydia admitted. “Stiles is not a champion of the gods, and he has also gone down there.”

“The destinies of the two brothers are bound together with those of your man and the other lycanthrope. They are all under the mantle of the gods. It all makes sense,” Demetria said in short sentences and simple words so Lydia could understand it without repetition. “Your Oneiric Pilgrim explained the prophecy. They are the descendants of heroes. They have the chance to win over the Black Pharaoh. When they do this, they will make the Wolf Star stronger for us, so we can banish the Hound.”

Lydia understood the prophecy, but based on what she had learned from her own premonitions, she had learnt to take fate with a pinch of salt.

“Last summer we… erm… met the Black Pharaoh here. He had been using a cult to take over our town through the mi-go,” Lydia explained. “Back then he told us that he was all for fairness, that when the stars were right they were never right in one way. It was all about the balance of opportunities.”

“Ah, I see…” Demetria nodded emphatically before speaking again, only this time in Greek. “ _Hen strateuntai epi pérsas, megálin auton katalusein_.”

“What’s that?”

“’If you go to war against the Persians, a great empire will fall’,” Demetria translated. “It’s what the Oracle told king Croesus. The oracles are always right, it’s just mortals who fail to interpret the true meaning.”

“Well, that does _not_ put me at ease,” Lydia frowned.

“Do you trust your friends to do what’s right?” she offered more hopefully.

Lydia paused for a second before answering. “Surprisingly enough I do, especially when they are all together.”

She knew for certain that the members of the McCall pack were capable of doing the most atrocious stupidities on their own. Stiles was a living proof of that, but so were Liam and Scott. And Jackson. _And_ Isaac… Lydia massaged her temples when she began to see a pattern. But she had to give her boys some credit: when they worked together, when they needed to step up and answer the call, they really worked like a pack. Whenever they worked together like that _everything_ worked out well.

A growing murmur behind them brought Lydia back from her thoughts. When she looked at Demetria, she had gone completely serious. The Sleeper took Lydia’s hand and stood up.

“The star is up, Aurelius is calling us.”

***

Up at the tower, Parrish and Chris were hiding from the Hound’s line of sight. Argent’s thermal goggles allowed them to track it as it approached, very clearly heading towards the Dreamland entrance. Chris wanted to think that it could sense that it had been used recently, because otherwise it meant that the Hound had more thoughts than just devouring whichever human looked at it.

“What am I going to do?” Parrish whispered. “How am I meant to fight with my eyes closed? And are you sure looking through those goggles does not count as looking at it?”

“As far as I see it, but it does not see my eyes I should be fine,” the hunter said, although mostly to convince himself about that not-so-certain fact.

“What did Scott and the rest do?”

“They trusted their senses. They closed their eyes and followed the creature’s cold path. That should be no problem for you, right?”

Before Parrish could comment on that, Argent put a finger to his own lips and instructed silence. He readied his gun and changed position so he had a better angle before whispering to Parrish, who had not dared move.

“It is just ahead of us,” Chris said. “It’s sniffing something.”

“I can hear it,” Parrish was closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Then he took his shirt off.

“When I tell you,” Chris continued with his instructions in his low and calculating voice, “you are going to jump over the low wall to your left, you are going to press your back against it, and then you are going to charge straight ahead until you hit that thing. Got it?”

“Ten-four.”

Chris paced slowly to his side until he got an optimal angle, but right then the Hound turned its aethereal head towards Chris and howled. Even through the distorted vision of his thermal infrared goggles, the hunter could see the disgusting snout of the Hound with its three converging jaws and a long, colder tube snaking out of its maw.

“Now, Jordan, _now!!_ ”

In a fraction of a second the Hound charged towards Chris while the hunter pulled the trigger and rained the creature with lead. Parrish meanwhile manoeuvred as Chris had told him, and, once he was with his back against the wall, let his inner fire burst through his skin, and he ran in a straight line towards where he could feel the unnatural chill of the Hound.

Parrish tackled the beast, and through his lenses Chris could only see an explosion when the fires from hell engulfed the ice of the void that was accompanied by two roars of pain: one clearly Jordan’s, the other distinctively not from this world.

“Fuck!” Jordan cursed as he squirmed on the ground in pain with his skin charred to a cold crackling.

“Jordan, duck!” Chris called as he emptied his clip on the Hound, which was, like the deputy, rolling over the floor in pain.

“They’re not doing anything,” Jordan groaned as he rolled onto his knees. “They just fly through it!”

To that Chris had only one reply: drop his gun and pull the larger one he had across his back. Chris yelled as he shot . This time, the Hound seemed to recoil back from the larger calibre bullets, but it only took it a few more seconds to be back on its legs, ready to charge.

“Chris, move out!” Jordan shouted. He had opened his eyes to look at his damaged crispy skin, and was now seeing the aethereal monster charging at his friend. “Move!”

Jordan forced himself up. Even if his skin cracked painfully with the strain, his inner fire burnt through the damaged tissue, regenerating it. But by the time he was running, the Hound had jumped on Chris, who had not been able to dodge the monster, even after jumping and rolling to the side. As he sprinted, Jordan could see the Hound driving its claws into the hunter’s soft flesh. To his credit, Chris did not scream – he just gathered all his strength and determination and clobbered the outer being with the butt of his weapon as if it were a bat. But the Hound would not stop scratching, and every time its skin touched Chris’, his frail human skin would cold-burn, blister, and blacken.

Fully ablaze, Parrish jumped shoulder-first into the hound when he was close enough. Upon impact he closed his eyes and brought his flaming arms around the creature’s body, pushing it away from Chris. He felt again his skin sizzling and cracking as it quickly cooled down, his only consolation being that he felt the aethereal flesh of the hound almost vaporise upon contact. Parrish had charged with sufficient force to push the Hound off Chris, and both rolled away, but even as he did so, he heard the disgusting wet noise of a sucker tongue dislodging itself from a fleshy body.

Chris screamed with a pain like he had never encountered in all his years as a hunter. He had been burnt, shot, mauled, clawed, bitten, punched, stabbed, slapped. He had been burnt, cut, bruised, poisoned, drugged. He had been concussed and had broken far more bones than he cared to count. He once had even been nearly garrotted by one of Monroe’s minions. But nothing compared to having his chest stabbed by a thousand needle-teeth just to have not just his flesh and blood, but his life and his _soul_ sucked through that alien Tindalos tongue.

The hunter, with the little strength he had left, crawled towards the mountain ash circle that protected the access to the Dreamlands. If it all came to the worse, he would give Isaac, Liam, and Stiles all the time he could. He left a bloody trail on the floor and for a few instants he had to break the seal in order to get in, but behind him he could hear the furious fight between the two hounds. Once he closed the circle he lied back against the wall and grabbed his gun.

He observed as Parrish and the Hound struggled in their fight, each trying to use brute force and supernatural strength to overpower the other. Whenever they pushed apart, Chris would shoot at the monster, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus: his eyes were blurry, and it was getting cold, and he really felt like he needed to rest for a few seconds.

***

When Scott saw at the far end of the path two glowing figures entwined and fighting near the remains of the tower, he stopped for a brief second, only to leave his pack calling out for him to wait for them. By the time he was at the top, he saw Parrish inserting his flaming arm into the ghostly body of the Hound, forcing it back with a whimper of pain followed by a snarl full of hatred.

“Scott, hold it!” the deputy shouted as he opened his eyes to look at Scott. He still pointed in the general direction where the Tindalos Hound had rolled away. “Chris needs help.”

Without any further explication, Parrish walked to the circle of mountain ash where Chris was now lying unconscious in a pool of blood. Scott dared look briefly to where the Hound was and, forcing his eyes closed, he charged claws first. Soon he felt the familiar pain of his skin blistering in the aethereal cold of the Hound. But something was different… either he had learnt his lesson on how to fight the Hound, or the creature was more cautious in its attacks, and fractionally slower in its reaction. Scott did not have much time to ponder on whether that meant that Parrish’s fire might have done something more permanent, because a triple jaw suddenly snapped shut on his shoulder.

Scott screamed in pain, tears running down his cheeks, but his scream turned into a full howl. The Hound released its bite when two solid masses collided against it, briefly pinning it to the ground. Scott _knew_ they were Derek and Jackson, although he got confirmation when the latter cursed as he was kicked away, landing heavily by Scott’s side. Ethan and Malia soon ganged up on the Hound, which sounded as if it was already back on all fours, and audibly growling defiantly.

“You okay, Scott?” Jackson asked, his face half-covered in blood.

“Jesus, Jackson, you—”

“It’s a scratch!” he had no time to remind Scott how bad and bloody all cuts in the head looked. He just leaned over and placed his hand on his arm, to absorb some of the pain that radiated from the equally bloodied alpha shoulder.

“Jackson, go help Chris and Parrish. Call the Sheriff,” Scott stood up and dared a glance at his three other betas, who were already a bloody mess, but that had managed to corner the hound. Jackson was about to interrupt, but Scott cut him short. “No but’s! Just go!”

Without looking back, Scott charged ahead to help his packmates, especially after hearing Malia land flat on her face after an obviously failed attack.

“What now, Scott?” Derek said as he struggled to stand up after the Hound clawed his lower back and right thigh. “We can’t keep bleeding here until it tires and disappears like last time.”

Scott found himself wishing they had had a more detailed plan originally, because before he could think of something they could do, Ethan yelled in pain, and he felt through their pack bond how he clearly was not fully recovered from the morning’s fight. So he roared, located the source of the cold waves that his skin thermal receptors were sensing, and attacked again.

They continued like this for a few more minutes. Jackson eventually yelled from the distance that the Sheriff was coming and that Chris was stable, even if not conscious. The werewolves clawed at the beast until their fingers were black and numb. Their bodies were bruised and injured, and their clothes were bloodied rags. Derek was right – they could not keep this up for much longer. They needed to draw the Hound to the nemeton. They needed it to follow them. To _chase_ them….

“Jackson!” Scott shouted as he clawed again into the body of the Hound, missing by a fraction of an inch. “Which way is the nemeton?”

“South east?” Jackson replied, not sure how that helped them right now. He dared not move as he continued to apply pressure on Chris’ wounds.

“I don’t know where that is!” Scott stepped back just in time to avoid the Hound’s mouth from snapping on his arm.

“Er…”

“Your three, Scott!” Parrish yelled.

“Guys follow my voice! Come to me!” he told as he gave three steps to his side, so that his back was pointing towards the nemeton.

“What are you on about?” Malia said.

“Just come here!”

Ethan, Derek and Malia followed the voice to their alpha while trying (and failing) to dodge the sharp claws of the Hound.

“On three we open our eyes and run for the nemeton,” Scott instructed, the Hound now in between them and the tower where Chris was bleeding.

“Are you insane?” Malia insisted as she stepped back with caution.

“ _THREE_!” Scott suddenly yelled, not giving time for anyone else to object. He opened his eyes.

For the first time Scott got a real chance to look at the Hound, at its alien face, and its eldritch body. He looked into its eyes and for a brief instant Scott _saw_ beyond. He saw an endless void, cold and eternal. It was not an absolute blackness because there were colours; iridescent hues of colours he knew but mixed in combinations that he did not know existed. Combinations that should not exist. Strands of aethereal colour forming nebulous strains across the vast emptiness. And in the centre of it all, a bright blinding light. Three barbed wheels or rings of fire, rotating in various planes like a gyroscope, surrounding an amorphous cluster of what seemed to be a mass of tubes or _tentacles_.

_Scott McCall_ , a voice mocked. He had heard that voice before. Last summer. It was a maddening and strident cacophony of different voices resonating as one inside his skull. _Champion of the blind imbecile Gods of Earth._

The low growl of the Hound focused him back to his current situation. The creature was pondering its options, as if calculating what it preferred, four fighting werewolves or one injured soul. Scott made the choice for it.

From the top of the hill, under the shade of the tower, and with the Wolf Star shining behind him, Scott McCall roared his ultimate alpha challenge. He felt as if his inner wolf had doubled in size. His howl echoed down into the valleys, it shook the ground beneath them, and reverberated through the air. His betas joined in, but deep inside him he sensed Liam and Isaac radiating strength and support. He even felt other distant and more tenuous long-lost bonds re-emerging.

The Hound replied in kind, with its own other-worldly challenging hiss.

And then, when it took the first step, Scott stepped back, and his betas with him.

“That is an ugly bastard,” Ethan said.

“Scott, it’s staring at us… it’s staring into us,” Malia was clearly feeling uncomfortable.

“Ready?” Scott asked. The hound kept advancing.

Then Scott and his pack reached the edge of the hilltop. Behind them was the long slope that led to the suburbs and, through them, into the preserve.

“Now!”

***

Within five minutes everyone at the nemeton was ready – or at least as ready as they could be. Not only had the Star finally risen in the sky, but the Hound had been spotted at the Tower. Everyone took their pre-allocated position around the nemeton stump, each holding a handful of the plants that Deaton had ceremoniously cut with his golden sickle, Lydia and Mason holding up the sheets of paper with the text of the chant.

A few tense minutes later they received a rushed phone call from Scott. They were running towards the nemeton with the Hound right behind them. Even in their current predicament, Lydia found time to give the alpha an earful about planning and strategy, which he acknowledged only briefly before shoving his phone back in his pocket without even hanging up. Lydia had to hear Scott’s panting as he ran and shouted ‘you were right, she didn’t like this plan’.

Knowing that the Hound was coming, everyone around the nemeton went dead serious. This was the moment for which they had been preparing. Lydia really hoped that twenty-four hours’ worth of preparation and fast-tracked research were good enough.

Deaton led the singing, which was unsurprisingly monophonic with patterns set at intervals. Deaton introduced each line of the chant with its particular segment of the melody and, when he finished it, the rest imitated it with a second iteration of the same verse.

_Nemora alta remotis incolitis lucis._

In this way, verse after verse, the group created a chant with ups and downs in the melody, until they reached a point where the melody repeated itself. At that point Deaton rose his sickle up to the Wolf Star and walked to the centre of the circle, following what seemed a random path, but that Lydia guessed had a hidden pattern. Aurelius led the chanting from that point on, starting from the very beginning, as Deaton muttered to himself something else in what was most definitely _not_ Latin.

He eventually reached the centre of the grove, but dared not set foot on the nemeton stump. Lydia observed as she continued chanting (by now she had memorised the Latin chant, and the rhyming repetitions and the rhythmic iteration had really got her in the zone), until he said something aloud when they all sang the final verse.

_Mae’r hen goeden fy nhadau wy’r agor. Mae seren y blaidd o’r awyr yn hongian. Galwyn y dystion ddwyfol. Rydym yn agor y ddrws. RYDYM YN AGOR Y DDRWS!_

With that. Deaton sank the sickle into the nemeton. Where there had been olive oil and a mysterious dust, now was a thick, rubbery coating that bulged like a rising loaf. The golden blade pierced the infinitesimally thin film and a gust of wind surged from the nemeton. The ground below them began to shake, and the few high clouds that had lingered in the sky were pushed away. A mystic glow came from the thin cut Deaton had made, creating a plane of electric blue light that crackled and zapped with lightning. Where last summer the nemeton had opened a pillar of green light, now they had a blue mirror.

The plane fanned up into the sky. Lydia saw Aurelius grin before he brought everyone together in another repetition of the looping chant. The banshee felt her supernatural side, her connection with death and the Morrigan growing in strength in her. The ritual, the connection they were establishing, and the portal they were demanding from the universe, was getting to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but when she opened them she was not at the nemeton anymore.

Or rather, she was, but she could really _see_ into the Otherworld. Everything had gone into grayscale, with the nemeton and the portal shining a blinding white. She could see the telluric currents converging under the tree, like flowing rivers of light. She looked around, feeling that time had stopped for her, searching for her companions. Mason looked normal enough, as did half of the sleepers, but some of them had a burning pure-black mark carved into their souls. Deaton appeared to be not the calm veterinarian she knew, but scores of other different men and women, sharing the same garment and the same golden sickle all piled onto one single body. Perhaps most disturbing of all was the thin tether of golden mist that linked her with Mason. They had similar plumes of aether reaching far up in the trees, where Liam was sleeping. They also had a handful of others going together like an intertwisted vine towards the northwest; towards the tower and towards the rest of the pack. But above all, she could see the Wolf Star, a bright, hollow point hanging up from the sky like a greedy vortex ready to engulf everything and spit it beyond.

_Croeso i Annwn, teulu_ , a voice came from behind her. It was ancient and distorted, and it spoke to her very soul. She could not recognise it, but she could understand it? She was being welcomed as a relative? But where?

When Lydia opened her eyes to the real world, it was clear that she had been absent for more than an instant, because she had never expected to see herself in the middle of a battle so quickly and so unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Latin line is actually part of a Roman poem (Lucan’s, De bello civili, I.453-4). It describes a nemeton near Arles (France). It transaltes as “Ancient sacred trees in unknown and hidden groves!”.
> 
> The Welsh incantation translates as "The old tree of our forefathers is open. The Wolf Star hangs fromo the sky. We call down the witness Gods. We are opening the gate!"


	29. Spiralling down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah… this is where we save the game before the big bad,” he answered. His brother and Liam chuckled. Surprisingly, it was Stiles who did not find that funny. “And then we proceed cautiously and secretly if we can until we get down and stop Mad Nurse Walker.”
> 
> OR: Isaac and the dreamwalkers descend into the cavern temple where Nurse Walker is carrying out her ritual

The setting sun and the Wolf Star appearing in the sky were all the incentive the troupe of dreamers needed to walk down the steps carved in the rock that led to the dark bowels of the underground temple. Coach led the way and Isaac, yet again, walked down the last, although before he entered the cavern, Isaac nailed the Pnakotic dreamcatcher on the lintel, effectively sealing them in the cave while theoretically keeping the gugs out.

“Let’s get going,” Cam, who had stayed at the top of the stairs waiting for his brother, said as he patted his brother’s shoulder. Isaac looked out to the open sky one last time, and headed down.

The corridor was a tight fit. The stairs were barely a metre wide and they descended down into the darkness for a while. Trying to push three giant wolves, their respective human selves, two Oneiric Pilgrims and an extra dreamwalker with a paddle down that corridor was testing for one of the werewolves. Thankfully, before Isaac could seriously reconsider why he allowed himself to get into all these adventures that involved dark confined spaces they reached a large, rock-cut antechamber lit by two lamps fitted in small niches. The ceiling was not particularly high, but Isaac could walk without having to duck every now and then. The walls were roughly hewed and bone-dry. A chiselled bench ran all along them. Two perfectly smooth pillars stood in the centre of the room. The floor was rough around the edges, but the centre had been sanded to a soft and shiny polish by generations of people descending here. Olwyn waited until they were all there to speak in a low voice.

“The altar is at the bottom of the cavern, and we are going to descend a long spiralling ramp.”

As the pilgrim described what they were going to face ahead and what they were likely to encounter, Isaac walked to the archway that marked the transition from the antechamber to the cavern temple. Despite the gloom and the darkness that reigned in the cavern, he could immediately see the ramp, hugging the sides of the cave that descended like a funnel to the central focal point, a large, grey stone altar surrounded by bonfires. ( _What is with these cultists and their frigging sacrificial tables? Altars and fires!_ ). The ramp appeared littered with blocks and collapsed masonry, but there were side rooms and alcoves that opened into it. The stench of gugs was strong there, even in the lofty cavern, and he could see their towering shapes scurrying in the shadows and fighting over the bloody remains of whatever their last meal had been. Remembering the oculus, Isaac looked up to the ceiling of the cave, a massive dome with inlaid precious stones and shiny metals that reflected the lights from the fires below. Whether they were the remains of what the temple had looked like or if those really were the only ritual decorations he did not know or cared.

“You heard what I said?” Olwyn’s question forced Isaac to turn around to look into the antechamber.

“Yeah… this is where we save the game before the big bad,” he answered. His brother and Liam chuckled. Surprisingly, it was Stiles who did not find that funny. “And then we proceed cautiously and secretly if we can until we get down and stop Mad Nurse Walker.”

“Wait, you know her?” Camden asked – obviously he had not been briefed about that particular point. Olwyn seemed also interested by this revelation, although this time she did not moan about revealing real-world names.

“She is a nurse in the hospital,” Isaac frowned. “I’ve met her… I must’ve seen her over a dozen times. She’s always there whenever I go and see Melissa. And she is the last surviving member of the cult that tried to sell the town to the mi-go.”

Isaac had felt so angrily clueless when the Sheriff revealed what they had found. Nurse Walker had been hiding in plain sight – watching Melissa and probably watching him and Scott too! All those times he had caught that distant but familiar smell must have been her. If only he had known…

“She wasn’t successful last year,” Liam vowed, and his wolf stepped up to reinforce his determination. “She won’t be successful now.”

***

Sneaking down the dark ramp with a party of nine was more complicated than it seemed. Thankfully three were wolves who advanced through the dark corridor silently with their padded paws. Isaac was still getting used to seeing through his eyes _and_ those of his wolf, but he felt that there were lessons to learn for his werewolf life from this oneiric double-body experience.

For the first few minutes the entire cavern seemed quiet, but soon they began to hear the guttural groans and the angry snarls of the gugs fighting amongst themselves for what Camden explained were probably dead gugs turned meal. These sounds were soon substituted by the rhythmic beating of drums accompanied by strident pipes and strange invocations in unknown languages.

“We better hurry up.”

They advanced crouching down along the balustrade, only daring to stand up flat against the wall if they wanted to look down without being conspicuous. When they reached the first alcove that opened on their left, the three wolves that were scouting ahead stopped and spiked their hair. Isaac knew his wolf was smelling a sweet smell of rotting flesh mixed with gug sweat, and he even caught a glimpse of a furry heap leaning against the corner of the dark alcove. Olwyn silently closed her fist so the party would stop, and told the werewolves with her eyes to keep their wolves from snarling at the sleeping monster.

Once the wolves calmed down, the Pilgrim took a few steps forward and picked up one of the many fragments of broken rock that littered the polished floor. To Isaac’s surprise, who was still trying to get his head around the idea of Dreamland logic, the rock turned out to be a mirror on the other side. Olwyn used it to inspect into the alcove.

“ _One sleeping gug_ ,” she whispered.

Camden took out his dagger, but Coach was quick to stop him, blocking his way with his staff.

“ _You can’t take a gug with just your dagger._ ”

“ _Yes, I can_ ,” Cam scoffed with a knowing grin. Isaac realised that he and his brother used the same sassy tone when they _knew_ they were right. Cam had even used it when he talked back to their dad, although Isaac had never dared do it.

“ _Not silently, you can’t_.”

Once Cam glared at Coach metaphorical daggers and that issue was settled, Bobby Finstock advanced until he was past the entrance. He blew on the wall, causing a cloud of dust to fly into the air, but when the dirt settled, Isaac saw that Coach was holding the handle of a sliding gate that had not been there before. He pushed it slowly and carefully until it closed with a click. He nodded at Olwyn, who returned the signal, and then indicated the rest of the party to continue walking.

“When do we get to do that?” Stiles whispered slightly too loud for Isaac’s liking, but the gug did not crash through the door demanding their blood, which was a plus.

“ _You know that thing about walking before running, right?_ ” Isaac whispered in a tone he hoped Stiles would imitate. “ _You already dreamt a halberd when you needed one_ ,” the beta insisted, pointing at the bladed polearm his friend was still carrying.

“ _Spoilsport_ ,” Stiles muttered, but did not push the issue any further.

They managed to complete one lap of the spiral when they reached a section where the rock had collapsed, blocking the way. To the side, however, there was an opening into the rock, faintly illuminated by some weird Dreamland green-blue glowing mushroom.

“How very thoughtful; these overgrown gnomes have dug a side tunnel,” Peter pointed out as his wolf sniffed the entrance to this hole in the rockface, which was covered in rust-coloured stains and stank of eau de gug.

“We could jump down to the next level,” Cam said after looking over the balustrade, “but we’ll likely be spotted. Or heard.”

Isaac’s wolf walked to the entrance, next to Peter’s, with his head up and his ears pointing and his tail flat. Gugs had been down that tunnel recently, but they were bound to encounter one sooner or later

“We’ve got no time to argue,” Olwyn stood in between the two massive wolves. “Let’s take the tunnel.”

“Are we sure?” Stiles questioned. Isaac might have the talent to point out flaws with unnecessary bluntness and smugness, but Stiles was being either deliberately obnoxious, or not fully aware of what was going on.

“Save it for later,” Coach said as he pushed them into the tunnel.

The smooth floor of the spiral corridor had made sneaking easy, even with the occasional debris; walking through the rough tunnel was definitely far more challenging. The uneven floor and the pools of mysterious goo slowed their advance, but they were in a rush, so they sacrificed stealth for speed. Thankfully gugs were large, and the tunnel was not as claustrophobic as Isaac had anticipated.

The tunnel went straight and up, which did not bode well, as they needed to go round and _down_ , but they did not have much of a choice. Despite their original apprehension about the tunnel, they soon reached a steep slope that clearly went to the next level. They walked in silence under the glow of the deep mushrooms, everyone listening out for any noise or sound that could indicate a gug or something worse coming down their way. Liam’s and Isaac’s wolves stopped at one point and looked up. The two betas joined them and looked up, only to see a dark vertical shaft.

“Keep going,” Coach said as he walked past them. “We can’t climb up there and we’re on a tight schedule.”

Eventually the party reached the end of the slope without any further problems.

“Thank goodness, for some fresh air,” Liam said when they reached the spiral path again. From what they could see, they had gone down at least two levels. “The smell in there was rank.”

“We can moan about that later,” Cam said with a smirk, looking directly at his brother. “Let’s get to the _bottom_ of this.”

“His puns are even worse than yours,” Stiles sniggered to Isaac, who simply punched him in the shoulder.

Olwyn and Coach were about to tell them to keep it quiet when the three wolves turned around to the tunnel they had just come through. Isaac, Liam and Peter immediately sensed the change in the air, the slight draft coming down, bringing with it the distinctive smell of one angry gug.

“The shaft…” Liam muttered as Isaac stepped on the stirrup of his crossbow to draw the string back.

“Okay, this is when everything goes tits up,” Coach warned as he tightened his grip on his staff.

“Are we going to do this quietly?” Cam asked as he drew his sword.

“We can try,” Peter cracked his knuckles and loosened his shoulders. His wolf lowered itself to get ready for the fight. “I doubt that thing will.”

As Peter finished talking, a sniffing gug walked out of the tunnel mouth. Once its giant head and vertical mouth were visible, Isaac pulled the trigger, letting the bolt fly loose until it hit the gug with a satisfying thud. At that very moment Stiles, who had been waiting flat against the wall attacked with his halberd, driving the blade into the gug’s side, but his attack was not sufficiently strong to wound the monster deeply enough, and the gug grabbed the halberd with a large clawed hand. By the time it had roared in pain, the two Pilgrims and Cam had already stabbed the creature repeatedly, and Peter’s wolf was under its belly, biting and pulling bloody mouthfuls of flesh and gore. Isaac did not have time to shoot again, but it was too late.

Screams and squawks of alarm echoed all across the cavern temple. Some came from below, from around the altar. Some came from above, from the tunnel and the vertical shaft.

“Cat’s out of the bag,” Olwyn pulled her sword from the gug and cleaned the black blood on its thick fur. “We now hurry up, but remember: we need to stop the summoning, not kill all the gugs.”

“It seems we’ll have to carve a bloody canyon before we get anywhere close,” Cam looked down to the bottom of the cave.

“Let’s start with those two,” Liam pointed at the two gugs that had climbed down from the rock wall and had just landed in front of them.

Isaac saw something shining on his friend’s hand and it took him only a second to realise that he had got himself some mean-looking spiked knuckles and he giggled. The taller beta took a knee with his crossbow at the ready and aimed.

***

Gugs were big and brutish, and not very bright, all of which played in the dreamwalkers’ advantage when it came to fight against the seemingly endless tide of enemies that came for them. They remained at the same spot until there were no fewer than half a dozen dead gugs; some at the entrance of the tunnel and some blocking their advance down the spiral corridor.

“We can’t let them pin us here. We need to keep moving forward,” Bobby said when the gugs gave them a break.

“Come on,” Liam said as his wolf peeked ahead, looking for a clear path. At some point during the fight when a gug had thrown a large rock at him, he had acquired a helmet, which now he was holding smugly under his arm. “There aren’t any more down there.”

“If they know we are here already, why can’t we just climb down?” Cam suggested. “It will definitely be faster than completing the spiral.”

As he said that he tied a length of rope he had been carrying around one of the rocks that littered the entrance to the tunnel and threw the rest over the balustrade, down to the next level.

“Wolves can’t climb,” was Peter’s reply. “Some of us have to go the long way down.”

“Why don’t half of us race down while you werewolves run down the spiral? You’ll catch up with us soon.”

“I would rather have extra support if more gugs decide to block our way,” the older werewolf commented. “And your little brother here won’t be a big fan of this plan of yours either, I guess.”

“Nothing good happens when we split up,” Isaac begrudgingly agreed with Peter, and dared not look into his brother’s eye.

“At this point I don’t care what we do,” Olwyn decided. “We need to get down there and we cannot waste our time with these discussions.”

Camden was about to argue when the decision was taken for him. With a loud, ear-piercing shriek, a winged creature landed on the balustrade. A byakhee, smaller perhaps than the one they had slain, but equally vicious, roared before jumping down on the path and separating the dreamwalkers’ party: Coach, Cam, Liam and Stiles were left in between the tunnel and the byakhee and Peter, Olwyn, Isaac and the three wolves on the other side.

Isaac was about to have his wolf attack but Olwyn pulled him towards her.

“What the fuck are you _doing_?” Isaac yelled as his wolf stopped, not knowing what or whom to attack.

“They can take care of it,” the Pilgrim said as she tried to pull Isaac away from the fight. Peter was already away from it and heading down the corridor.

“My _brother_ is there! You saw what happened last time we fought against that thing!” Isaac struggled. Behind him, Cam and Coach kept the byakhee on its toes with their weapons while Stiles clumsily tried to stab the monster with his polearm.

“Listen, _Isaac_ ,” when the Pilgrim used his real name, even if it was an almost-silent hiss, she said it in a voice laden with command and power. Isaac felt like when Derek had pulled rank on him and alpha-ordered him to do something (Scott probably could also do that, but had never actually done it). The beta was forced to at least listen to what Olwyn had to say. “We are on a mission. We need to stop that cultist. You trust your friends and your brother?”

Isaac looked for a second. The byakhee was having a difficult time in the narrow space of the corridor, as it could not use its full size or its deadly wings. The thing was that he trusted them. He knew they could do it. It was perhaps the same blind trust that Scott irradiated onto his pack. _Damnit, I hate she’s right_. Isaac bit his lip.

“You know what we must do. They know what they must do. Now let’s get going!” the Pilgrim concluded before taking off herself.

Isaac stood frozen for one more second, his wolf beside him nearly whimpering at the indecision.

“Go and do your fateful hero stuff!” Liam shouted over the fighting noises. “Take my wolf. We’ll catch up with you further down!” And then the byakhee turned and, with its big ant-like abdomen, hit Liam, sending him flying against the wall. Coach and Stiles took that moment to charge at the momentarily unprotected flank of the beast, while his brother stabbed with surgical precision at the monster’s vulnerable parts.

“Caradoc!” a voice called Isaac.

The werewolf took a deep breath, and looked down at his wolf, who nodded back with all his lupine support and reassurance. He thought of Scott, and how he was also away from him, fighting his part in their complex game of gods and fate. Scott had a job to do. Isaac had a job to do. They all fought as a team, but each player had a mission. It was like rugby and lacrosse and he hated it, because despite what his instincts and fears told him, he _knew_ what he had to do. Without looking back at his friends or his brother, Isaac began to run flanked by his and Liam’s wolves, jumping over the pile of dead gugs, and chasing after Peter and Olwyn.

As they descended, Olwyn, Peter, Isaac and the wolves rushed down the spiral corridor, stopping only when a gug jumped in front of them, but they dispatched it with ease. After two laps, Isaac saw the byakhee flying off, and his friends and brother waving at them and pointing at their rope – they were about to descend the fast way.

Isaac and his advanced party came to another blocked point where they had to enter one of the gug tunnels, although this time there was a gug waiting for them. In the close quarters of a confined tunnel, the blind creature had an unexpected advantage, as it blocked the tunnel completely and had enough range with its long, double arms to claw at them. Isaac shot at it with his crossbow as the wolves stayed back with Peter (who despite being unnervingly dexterous with his doublehanded sword could not swing it around in the tunnel), so it was only Olwyn facing the gug in close combat.

“You’ve got nothing else you can do, Peter?” Isaac said in a rather unfriendly tone as he pulled his trigger again.

Before Peter could reply, the three wolves noticed something approaching from the other point of the tunnel.

“I’ll take care of that,” Peter spat as he took his wolf and his blade and went to the other end of the tunnel. A few seconds later he heard Peter fighting what sounded like another gug.

_Shit. Trapped in a tunnel. Shut in by those two disgusting monsters. In a small, narrow, dark tunnel_. Isaac suddenly felt he was running out of breath, but his wolf nuzzled him, and all was well.

Isaac shot again, sinking another bolt in the chest of the gug just as Olwyn slashed down and cut one of its hands. The werewolf was about to draw his bowstring once again, but he sensed something go wrong. He saw Olwyn slip on the bloodied rocky floor of the tunnel just as the gug swung its clawed hand down. In that split second, his brain noticed what was about to happen, and before he could scream a warning, his wolf leaped up to bite the gug’s arm and, with his weight, keep it from gouging Olwyn open. A heartbeat later, Liam’s wolf darted forward with a defying snarl, immediately biting into the cut and wounded belly of the monster until its innards spilled out – mostly on Olwyn, who cursed but who was safe. However, with its dying strength, the gug snapped its hideous vertical jaws shut, biting with all its strength into Isaac’s wolf’s leg.

Isaac felt his own leg bones splintering and his flesh burning in pain before he heard his wolf whimper and cry. Isaac dropped his crossbow as he reached for his own leg, which, to his surprise, was unharmed, even if it was mirroring his wolf’s injury.

“Isaac!”

The werewolf could hear his brother calling, but at that point all he cared about was his inner wolf, his wolf-self, that was injured and whinging with his paw still trapped in the gug’s mouth.

“Help me!” Isaac was panicking and his heart racing as he tried to pry the jaw open and to calm his wolf down. “Please, _help!”_

A few instants later the jaw was crowbarred open and the wolf could get its leg out. Isaac felt his wolf jump on him, seeking comfort and reassurance, almost smothering him with his thick fur and his constant licking, but the werewolf did not care – he just _needed_ it. He sighed and hugged his wolf, crying onto his pelt, only realising a few instants later that his brother, Liam, Stiles, and Coach were in the tunnel with him.

“What happened?” Liam was very agitated. His wolf had not been injured, but he had felt Isaac’s fear through their pack bond.

“That wolf saved my life,” Olwyn explained. “Even if it got a nasty nip by that gug.”

“Sad as that is, we have no time for this right now,” Coach said in a deadly serious tone.

Isaac then had a chance to have a proper look at how the other half of the party looked. They were bruised and battered. Liam had a nasty cut on his arm, and his helmet was dented. Stiles had a black eye and a bloody lip, and was clearly leaning all of his weight on the one leg and using his halberd for support like a crutch. Coach and Cam were, similarly, covered in blood and with makeshift bandages keeping them together.

“What _happened_ to you?” Isaac asked, his eyes wide and wild in shock.

“Forget about that!” Coach insisted, cutting Isaac’s question short. “The star is there. We can see it through the oculus.”

***

As they rushed out of the tunnel and into the corridor, Isaac had a chance to look over the edge to see. Up above the oculus, the circular opening at the top of the cavern, was a window to the night sky. One particular green star, one Isaac had seen before (and he cursed those memories), was now clearly visible. The werewolf then looked down to the bottom of the cavern, which was much closer than he had expected. He knew little of optics and physics, but he was sure that it was impossible for a star to shine its light on the ground like a bright green laser point on the floor, slowly and inexorably advancing towards the altar stone. Maybe there was some sort of lens in the oculus, or maybe it was something _else_ he did not really want to know about.

Around the altar there were gugs doing impossible dances, and making ululating croaks like oversized tropical frogs with their unsightly vertical mouths. The wounded byakhee was down there too, standing like an abhorrent guardian behind a figure in a dark cloak who had a book opened flat on the altar. Isaac knew that could only be nurse Walker, the last cultist. And of course, because nothing in his life was easy, there was a throng of gugs blocking their way up ahead. For a brief second Isaac felt a déjà-vu of last summer, standing with Christine outside the nemeton, watching the cultist sing and dance with the mi-go.

_Urghhh… Fuck. My. Life._

His wolf nudged him to keep running as his companions continued their descent.

They reached the penultimate level, which was a ring corridor that surrounded the altar with ornamental columns gruesomely splattered with blood and defaced with runes of some sort. From there they were only one elaborate flight of carved steps away from the bottom of the cavern, but right then gugs began to rain on them from the upper levels. Thankfully their wolves had caught their stench in time and were not surprise-attacked, but they were still an unwanted distraction.

Isaac pressed himself against the rock wall and stepped down on his weapon’s stirrup while his wolf (followed closely by Liam’s and Peter’s) jumped at the gugs that were precariously climbing down, biting them in their soft underbellies, and pulling them down, either tearing them to shreds or dropping them down to the bottom of the cavern. Stiles took a defensive position with his halberd, keeping Isaac safe so he could keep shooting, while Liam joined in the thick of the fight.

“Does your friend never learn?” Stiles grunted as he slashed a gug’s face with the blade of his weapon.

“I think he likes it too much,” Isaac managed a grin as he pulled the trigger.

Further down the corridor, Camden, true to what he had promised earlier, was carving a bloody canyon through the gugs. Olwyn and Peter definitely helped with their deadly swings and slashes, but Isaac’s brother seemed to have a deadly accuracy.

The fight was getting easier as the gugs’ determination began to falter, but the dreamwalkers were running low on stamina (and there was a limit to the times Isaac could see a gug corpse without vomiting). They needed just _one last push_ before they could break through and reach the temple sanctum; one last push to stop that effing nurse and her megalomaniac plans to end the universe or whatever turned her on. But the universe seemed to be very keen in coming to an end.

A loud noise, like a foghorn from hell, shook the cavern to its foundations. Some of the gugs that were still clinging to the wall lost their grip and fell, and a couple of the ones that were blocking their way turned around and ran down to the altar. Isaac had a very bad feeling about all that, and the look on Stiles’ face told him that his friend agreed. The blond beta quickly walked to the edge of the corridor and looked over the parapet, only to see the gugs in an ecstatic frenzy, jumping up and down in an ungodly chorus of croaks and hums. The green circle of light on the floor of the cave had reached the stone base of the altar.

“There’s no time! Everyone hurry down!” a voice called – Isaac could not register which one.

“Stiles, go with them!” Isaac shouted when he sensed that his companions were charging down to the altar.

“What are you going to do here?!” Stiles did not understand. He had to shout to be heard over the apocalyptic trumpet.

“Just _go_!” Isaac pointed at the three wolves biting their way through the gug ranks as the other dreamwalkers followed behind. “I’ll pin Walker down!”

Isaac sensed Stiles hesitate, but he was already charging his crossbow and taking aim.

“I won’t leave you alone!”

The hellhorn stopped, which allowed the noises of the battle to reach them clearly.

“I’ve got a chance to shoot her dead,” Isaac bit his tongue as he aimed. Nobody had discussed if Scott’s old-time no-kill policy applied to relapsing cultists in the Dreamlands, but he decided that there was a legal loophole. He pulled the trigger.

The bolt flew through the air in slow motion, darting above the heads of the gugs, straight towards the cultist, only to be stopped by the leathery wings of the byakhee.

“Oh, dude!” Isaac moaned.

“Well done, scarfwolf,” Stiles complained.

“Not now, Stilinski,” Isaac did not even bother to look at his friend, busy as he was reloading his weapon. “Just fucking go down and kill her!”

“Do you know the amount of people who will _kill_ me –like kill me _dead_ – if I get out of here without you?” Stiles tightened the grip on his halberd when he saw the byakhee flying towards them. “I’ll keep that busy,” he added. “You do your stuff, Hawkeye.”

***

Isaac had time to reload and shoot twice more.

As he pulled the bowstring back to the nut the first time, the byakhee flew to their level. Stiles, as he had promised, was there for him, and he managed to keep the flying furry monster at bay with his weapon. Isaac noticed in the corner of his eye that his friend was now wearing a heavy-looking breastplate, a protection he clearly needed, because the beta saw sparks coming out of it when the byakhee clawed at Stiles.

As he took aim, he noticed that the wolves had reached the bottom level. They were bloodied and in some primeval hunting frenzy, but they were still focused on their target, which was to reach the altar and the cultist. Isaac could feel in his own flesh the (many) gug claws that sank into his wolf’s back, but he could also sense the determination and the purpose, the need to help the pack, to follow the alpha’s plan to the ultimate consequence if needed.

When he pulled the trigger, Isaac saw the two Oneiric Pilgrims charging in behind the wolves. They both had something glowing fiercely golden hanging from their necks. He had seen Coach’s runic pendant, but had never asked what it did, and now the werewolf could only wonder at the power the two dreamers could muster in their aid. Finding mirrors and pushing gates was nothing compared to the throwing daggers that flew from their hands and the ease with which they managed to make the gugs trip and fall at the slightest touch.

The second bolt flew towards the cultist, only to be intercepted by an unexpected gug. Isaac could almost hear in his head the stupid creature going _d’oh!_ before dying.

_For fuck’s sake…_

Seeing Peter fight as he loaded his crossbow one more time was something that he could only compare to scenes from either _Game of Thrones_ or _Conan the Barbarian_. He was staying cautiously back, rather than joining in the bloody centre, but his two-handed sword slashed in deadly circles, opening the guts and chopping limbs off of any gug that dared approach the rest of the party from the rear.

Isaac had not expected Liam to go so determined into the fight, especially knowing what had happened to him last time. That is why, while Isaac aimed a second time, he was very conscious about what his packmate was doing. Part of it was impressed awe. Most of it was dread and fear for his friend. Liam was not only wearing a helmet, he had also managed to dream a studded silver shield and some sort of padded armour, which Isaac knew from _Skyrim_. _And that little shit there calls_ me _a geek…_ he pulled the trigger as he sniggered.

But what caught Isaac most by surprise was his brother jumping through fallen gugs and fighting wolves to land in the centre of the fight, by the altar, and in front of that cultist bitch Walker. The bolt flew as Cam levelled his blood-soaked rapier at the evil priestess, like a ‘tache-less and short-haired version of Inigo Montoya. Worryingly, the resemblance was not only to _The Princess Bride_ ; Cam standing at the centre of a battle, facing the evil priestess by the altar of doom was _exactly_ what had happened last summer when Scott had defied the leader of the cult. Something bad churned in Isaac’s stomach. _This is not right. This can’t be. Not again. Not Cam. Not now. This is a fucking trick. Fucking gods. Fucking fate!_ Isaac’s crossbow shook in his hands when the cultist made a hand gesture and the bolt hit some form of protective shield.

The battle stopped for an instant when the loud bellowing horn blew again from nowhere, even louder this time. Isaac saw that the green light of the Wolf Star had climbed up to the edge of the altar. Time slowed down. Coach and Olwyn tried to get through two very large gugs. Peter was shouting at his wolf to go for the priestess. His brother faced the cultist, who was pulling a blade of solid green lightning out of the book on the altar. Stiles was struggling to keep the byakhee away from him. Liam turned around brusquely to go and help Camden, but a large clawed hand stood in his way.

Liam bashed down with his shield on the hand. His wolf leaped to help him. But the gug’s other hand grabbed Liam’s ankle and pulled him down. The younger beta’s face turned into a mask of surprise and then of terror. Then he vanished in thin air, and his wolf with him.


	30. Under the light of the Wolf Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the nemeton, Deaton led the ritual. The Wolf Star cast its hideous and disturbing green light on the supernatural tree’s grove, and the lines and runes that they had prepared shone with an unnatural glow. The singing continued while Deaton shouted his instructions and the portal became larger and more real.
> 
> OR: In the awaken world Scott must fight the Hound while Deaton leads the Sleeper druidic ritual at the nemeton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many many thanks to i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name for making this story proper readable

Scott and Ethan shifted as they ran away from the tower, with the Hound close behind them. Further ahead, Derek and Malia (who had shifted completely to a large, black wolf and a lean, fast coyote) were trying to navigate their way towards the nemeton, which was easier said than done. Of course, after the alpha explained his last-minute plan (while they were already on the run), Derek had only had enough time to give Scott a death glare before bursting through his clothes.

“Don’t look back,” the alpha told Ethan, who was struggling to keep up with the pace of the alpha.

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

None of them needed to look in order to know that the Hound was behind them. They could hear its otherworldly growling and the heavy thumps of its clawed paws on the dry soil. They could also feel the waves of the cold of the void that irradiated from it, sending shivers down their spines and keeping the hairs on their arms on end.

“What are you doing?” Ethan said with terror in his voice when Scott pulled his phone out. “You better not trip over. I’m sure the same rules of drinking and driving apply when—”

“ _Shush!_ Lydia is not answering.”

“Yeah, I know why,” Ethan puffed as he jumped over a log. “Look ahead.”

Roughly in the direction they were running they could see an odd display of coloured lights emerging from the trees. Scott had already seen a cultic ritual at a nemeton, so he was fairly sure he could spot one from three or four miles away.

Behind them came a sound that could only be described as that of an ethereal creature from the void clawing its way through fallen trees and bushes. Malia yapped ahead, and Derek howled to signal their position. Ethan and Scott veered left.

Scott was about to phone again, but he was surprised to see that this time someone was calling him.

***

Liam opened his eyes. One second he had been fighting gugs and trying to stop the last cultist from performing her ritual; the next one he was opening his eyes to a starry night partly obscured by the tree branches, only to see something flying up into the air, and then he was falling down.

“Aaaaargh— _Ouch_!”

The beta heard the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric, but he could not _see_ what was going on because there was something covering his eyes, so he began to breathe rapidly, feeling as if he were running out of air. To make things worse, he was feeling sick in his stomach, and his pulse pounded loudly in his ears. Something was definitely going wrong.

Liam panicked.

His claws popped out and he began to rip into the soft and silky _thing_ that was covering his face, blinding him and impeding his already accelerated breathing. But that did not seem to help. He was still feeling sick. A few seconds later he could see through whatever had been blocking his sight, and it became evident that he had destroyed yet another of Scott’s sleeping bags (which added up to two in two nights), that he had fallen off the hammock, and that he was hanging upside down by the broken hem of his trousers.

“Great…”

The tattered remains of the sleeping bag eventually slid off and fell all the way to the floor, down below. It was still night-time, and the only light he could see was the orange glow of candle and flame coming from the nemeton. Everything slowly began to make more sense. Liam tried to reach back to the hammock without any luck. He then tried to swing over to the rope ladder, but it was out of reach.

“Guys?” Liam yelled hopefully. “Mason? Lydia?”

Hanging from a tree definitely was _worse_ than falling in a hole. The only plus was that at least nobody was there to see him hanging there like a lemon.

“Hello? Help, anyone?”

Although on second thought, there was nobody there to help him get off that stupid branch.

The werewolf tried to reach Isaac through their shared pack bond, but it was muffled and distorted, which he guessed meant that they were still in the Dreamlands. He could still feel him, but he could not reach him, but that was reassuring enough. Liam put his hand in his pocket and pulled his phone out, but gravity did most of the job for him, and his mobile slipped through, landing with a soft thud on the destroyed sleeping bag.

“Fucking _brilliant_ …”

His thoughts of letting go of his trousers so he could get to the floor were interrupted by an alpha howl. Liam’s eyes glowed yellow, and he shifted as the roar echoed across the preserve and towards Beacon Hills. He immediately felt Scott tugging his pack bond, calling him in, demanding his help, and Liam _had_ to roar back in support of his alpha. Something must have happened with the Hound, because Scott had only done something remotely similar once before, and that had been when he realised about Isaac earlier last summer.

When the roar stopped, Liam wriggled until his shorts finally broke, setting him free to fall ten feet down to the floor. Once he was sure he had not broken anything, he brushed off the dirt and searched for his phone as he kicked the remains of his shorts off. When he found it, Liam immediately pressed on the first pack number he found: _ALPHA SCOTT [wolf emoji]_.

“Why are you up?” Scott replied, obviously angry, but also obviously on the run.

“What’s happening?”

“Ring Argent,” Scott instructed before hanging up.

Liam stared at his phone after his alpha hung up on him. He searched for Chris’ contact and rang as he jogged towards the nemeton only in his top and his boxers.

“Liam?” a voice that was not Chris’ answered.

“Jackson? What’s going on?”

“Why are you awake?”

“What’s going _on_?”

“Why are you _awake_?” Jackson insisted.

“I asked first, God damn it!”

“Chris is badly injured. Parrish and I are staying with him until the Sheriff arrives with your dad.”

“Shit, what happened?”

“Listen, Liam,” Jackson interrupted. “Scott is drawing the Hound towards the nemeton. You have to be ready for when they arrive.”

“Why are you not coming?” Liam suddenly realised. “Who’s with you?”

“Just me, Chris, and Parrish,” Jackson clarified again. “The rest are on your way. Go find Deaton and tell them to be ready!”

Liam hung up without saying goodbye, only to realise that he did not have a pocket to keep his phone in anymore.

_This is going to be a long night…_

***

“Who was that?” Parrish asked.

“Liam,” Jackson explained.

“Why is he up?”

“I don’t know!”

It had been a few minutes since Scott had lured the Hound away from the entrance to the Dreamlands, but the Sheriff had not yet arrived.

“Hey, hey, hey, Mr Argent,” Jackson had to focus on the man who was lying against him, because his head had suddenly bobbed. “Stay with me, okay? Stay awake.”

Chris had lost a lot of blood, and despite the pain that Jackson had drained from him and Parrish’s best efforts to cauterise the nastier cuts, the hunter was in very bad shape.

“Hmmmm,” he groaned as he fought to keep his head up.

“That’s right. Well done. Head up, and stay awake.”

“Jackson…” Chris muttered though his teeth.

“Yes, I’m still here. Do you want some water? Parrish,” he said to the side, “water?”

“Jackson,” Chris insisted. “You understand why I tried to keep you away from Derek?”

“Oh, no. Not now. You’re not having a moment right now,” Jackson took a deep breath and took more of Chris’ pain, enough to make him feel nauseous and allowing the hunter to sit up straight.

“Jackson, don’t overdo it,” Parrish warned as he handed his water bottle.

“Mr Argent, please do not have a moment,” Jackson insisted. “You are not going to die. The Sheriff will be here in no time.”

“But you understand why I had to?” Chris reiterated.

“Yes, I do. I was a pretentious brat with unhealthy self-esteem and abandonment syndrome. And I should have known better than to meddle with werewolves,” Jackson admitted. Parrish had the feeling that the former kanima might have repeated that same line to himself a few times in order to be able to admit it out loud. “But you have a wedding this autumn, and you need to be there, because of Melissa, and because of Scott—”

“You need to apologise to Scott for me,” Chris coughed blood and wheezed, breathing with difficulty. “I threatened a sixteen-year old kid with a gun.” The hunter shook his head and cried. “I bullied that kid and…”

“Whoa, whoa, I think we all bullied him. I’m sure even Isaac was a dick to Scott back then when he and Derek…”

“Mr Argent,” Parrish stepped in. “You’re not going anywhere. And I’m sure Scott has moved on, we all know him. You are marrying his mother and have adopted his boyfriend. If he had any serious concerns he’s definitely moved on and left them in the past.”

Chris had another fit of coughing, although this time he winced in pain and bent over, bringing his hands down to his side, where the makeshift bandages they had applied had moved and were slick with blood.

“Where is the Sheriff?” Jackson hissed as he rested Chris on the floor and applied pressure on the wound. “He’s coming, right? With Liam’s dad?”

“He is,” Parrish knelt down and held Chris’ head up. “He should be…”

***

At the nemeton, Deaton led the ritual. The Wolf Star cast its hideous and disturbing green light on the supernatural tree’s grove, and the lines and runes that they had prepared shone with an unnatural glow. The singing continued while Deaton shouted his instructions and the portal became larger and more real.

Mason continued chanting mechanically even after Deaton concluded the main incantation with a frill of his golden sickle, but now he had some time to really observe what was happening. The portal that had opened on top of the nemeton was black and grey, with fulgurant crackles of lighting inside, but it looked _dull_. In any case, it was so exciting! The rhythmic chanting, the tingly sensation of the telluric currents running through him. The odd energy that radiated from the tree stump. _So intense!_

He was about to ask Lydia when he noticed that the banshee was in a very weird trance. Thankfully, her eyes were firmly closed (Mason was not sure how he would have coped seeing only the whites), and even if her lips were moving, whatever she said was too low for him to hear. In any case, Mason was not sure that he wanted to know what Lydia was muttering under her breath. The weirdest thing of all was that she was hovering a few centimetres above the ground, and some of her hairs were standing with static.

“The portal is now ready; _nunc est porta,_ ” Deaton declared with solemnity. “Now we must wait for the Dreamwalkers to do their bit before we can open it.” Establishing a portal was one thing, but opening it and making it functional was a completely different one, and Deaton could not stress that often enough.

“Dr Deaton?” Mason put his hand up, as he looked at Lydia.

“Lydia is probably in communion with the Otherworld,” the druid explained.

Mason had read about the Otherworld, the plane of the pure supernatural.

“Are that… and the portal… like… related?” Mason pieced the two things together with caution.

At that moment, a loud werewolf howl resounded across the preserve. It could only be Scott. The Sleepers turned towards the northwest in fear, and Deaton had to calm them down, reminding them that the lycanthropes were helping them. Mason did not say anything, but he felt inside him the tiniest invigorating warmth, which _pulled_ him towards the howling werewolf.

“ _Canis pervenit_ ,” Deaton warned everyone once Scott’s howl died down. The sleepers shifted uncomfortably and retook their positions around the nemeton.

“Err…”

“Sorry,” Deaton smiled. “Your question: no, I don’t think they are connected, but I have never had to do a druidic ritual of this scale.”

“This is a druidic ritual?” Mason could not believe he had just heard that odd confession. “What part of druidism is this?”

“Druids seek knowledge in nature, both the natural and the supernatural. When it comes to using this knowledge to protect either the natural or the supernatural, any ritual becomes druidic.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“We better get back to our positions,” Deaton deflected.

“Right _now_?”

Deaton gave him a sly smile, but before Mason could ask any further, Liam appeared at the edge of the nemeton. He bumped into the mountain ash barrier and fell back on his arse, but he stood up and shouted at Deaton and Mason.

“Scott is coming!” he shouted. “The Hound is following them.”

“What are you doing awake?” Deaton asked, now very concerned.

“I woke up, but listen—”

“Why are you bruised?” Mason demanded.

“I fell off a tree…” Liam admitted in an embarrassed voice. “But you need to—”

“ _Ubi sunt bracae_?” Cleomena asked aloud from behind Mason and Deaton. Demetria giggled, and Deaton raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Liam was confused.

“She asks where are your shorts.”

“Oh, I… Forget about that. I fell off a tree!” Liam insisted, now blushing slightly. “Jesus, can anyone let me in?”

Deaton opened the mountain ash barrier, letting the werewolf in, and closing it back again.

“Whoa, is that the portal? It looks like the one in the Dreamlands.”

“Speaking of,” Mason intervened. “Why are you up? How are we going to know that the portal is closed?”

“It was in the battle with the gugs!” Liam explained, as if that was all the justification they needed. “I- I- I might have shifted in bed. Like, a _lot_. And I fell off the hammock.”

“But how are we supposed to know when they’re done?” Mason insisted.

Aurelius came over with Cleomena and Demetria to find out what was going on. One of the things they knew about the plan was that Liam had to stay asleep, and that he would be their go-between with the Dreamwalkers.

“We can only trust them to do their part of the plan,” Deaton said, even if he was not one-hundred percent sure himself. The veterinarian then turned around to explain and calm the Sleepers, who argued that Liam being awake was already a bad omen for the rest of the ritual.

“How was it in _there_?” Mason could not hide his curiosity.

“It is very cool, but it is a bit fucked up right now.”

“That does not fill me with confidence.”

Liam looked at his friend, who was looking at him with seriousness, even if he had put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The werewolf sighed.

“In the Dreamlands it is…” Liam struggled to explain. He still believed that he was under some sort of secrecy code. “It’s definitely different. But we were in this temple with the effing cultist. She was doing a ritual with the gugs, and she was drawing the power of the Wolf Star—”

“Gugs?”

“Forget about that for now,” Liam quickly backpedalled. “They’re in the middle of a nasty fight, and last I saw? It was not looking good.”

***

“ _CHRIS!_ ”

Jackson and Parrish had heard the cars arriving to the car park, but they were not prepared to see a very distressed Melissa jumping out of the Sheriff’s truck. Before either of them could say anything, she was already kneeling by her fiancé’s side, although Jackson was not sure if Mrs McCall was in the right state for their current situation. Thankfully, Liam’s dad was close behind, and after unzipping his first aid bag, he took over and gave Melissa precise instructions on what to do.

“Is he going to be okay?” Jackson wanted to know.

“How long has he been like this?” Dr Geyer asked.

“A while?” was Parrish’s best guess. He had lost track of time.

“He’s also coughed blood,” Jackson added sullenly.

“We need to take him to the hospital,” Dr Geyer decided. “We should have brought an ambulance.”

“Not while that creature is still around,” the Sheriff reminded. “How are you two?” he asked Jackson and Parrish.

“We’re fine now. Mostly,” the deputy was still trying to heal from the frostbite injuries that the Hound had caused him. “We’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

As Jordan summarised what had happened to the Sheriff, Melissa and Dr Geyer stitched up Chris and plugged a bag of blood into him. The hunter was in pretty bad shape, and Melissa could not hold back her tears as she removed the emergency bandages that covered the deep claw marks left by the Hound. Chris at least was sufficiently conscious throughout to hold on to Melissa’s hand. Even if his grip was weak, his fiancée held his hand tight.

“We need to take him to the hospital _now_ ,” Dr Geyer said in a tone that admitted no reply. “He’s stable enough, and we can lay him flat in the back of the cruiser. But we can’t wait any longer.”

The Sheriff nodded and he brought Parrish with him to put the back seats down and make the back as comfortable as possible.

“Help us carry him,” Dr Geyer told Jackson, who nodded sheepishly and did as he was told.

Chris groaned when Jackson lifted up (the werewolf ended up doing the heavy lifting) as Melissa spoke to the hunter, in hushed tones. When they got to the car, Melissa had to let go of Chris’ hand. While Jackson and Dr Geyer placed Chris in the back, Melissa approached Parrish.

“How’s Scott?”

“He is leading the Hound to the nemeton,” the deputy used his professional training to sound reassuring. Since Melissa was very willing to believe his words, she calmed down ever so slightly. “He took Malia and Derek.”

“What about Isaac?”

Jordan bit his lip and looked around before giving an answer. “We haven’t heard from any of them yet.”

***

“Scott? It’s getting close!” Ethan shouted as he jumped over a bush. “ _Way_ too close.” Behind him he felt the cold claws of the Hound slicing through the air.

Scott then stopped in his tracks. He turned to look at where his beta was and he saw the Hound almost within biting distance.

“Malia! Derek! Keep on going. I’ll buy us some time!”

Without waiting for a reply, he jumped towards the Hound, landing close enough to lure it away from Ethan, giving the twin a chance to run ahead.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ethan stopped when he heard Scott wrestling the Hound on his own.

“Buying you some time!”

“I’m not leaving you behind—”

“ _Run ahead_ ,” Scott ordered with an alpha roar. “I’ll catch up.”

Up ahead, Derek and Malia howled and yapped, as if asking if Scott needed help, but the alpha roared again, and his betas kept on running.

“I trust you not to die,” Ethan said, his voice full of fear.

“Not planning on that,” Scott grunted through his teeth when the Hound lashed at him with its giant paws. “Just go! _”_

Ethan rushed ahead, following Derek and Malia, who were navigating through the preserve towards the nemeton. Scott then found himself in a one-on-one battle with the Hound of Tindalos. The aethereal creature attacked with its usual combination of jaw snapping and clawed paws, but Scott knew that, on his own, the best he could do was to play for time, dance around the creature while Ethan, Derek and Malia sprinted ahead. So Scott rolled back and forth, dodging the attacks of the Hound and always staying outside its range. There were a couple of moments when he came too close and was forced to sink his own clawed fingers into the cold non-body of the Hound. It did not take long for the Hound to tire of this game and, deploying an animal cunning that Scott had not noted before, the Hound feinted with one claw but then jumped in the opposite direction, ramming straight into Scott.

With the alpha on the ground, the Hound howled, and it lost no time in its attacks. The aethereal creature jumped high and fell hard on the ground, and Scott only had the briefest instant to roll away from the creature, although not fast enough to dodge a claw to his shoulder.

The pain spread like a freezing burn through his body in waves, reaching further and further in his body with each heartbeat. Scott cursed as he kept rolling, but he hit a tree, and had to push himself out of the way before the Hound stripped the bark of the trunk with its powerful bite.

Having lost the initiative and the distance, Scott was now fighting purely for survival, and he was forced to parry more clawed attacks than he had expected, so little by little Scott got tired and weakened by the many bruises and bleeding cuts.

Remembering his purpose, Scott tried to locate any of the scent tracks of his betas, but the stench of the Hound mixed with his own anxiety, his adrenaline, and his _blood_ were blurring the trace. The Hound kept pushing him in one direction, and when Scott briefly turned around he saw that he was being cornered against a thicket of bushes. Cursing under his breath, the alpha needed an escape, something that would give him the advantage again. So he waited until the Hound lowered its body and prepared to leap forward, as he had seen it do before, and when the Hound was ready to spring, Scott leaped up, falling down as the Hound hit the empty ground where he had been, and landing a few paces behind the creature from the void.

But Scott was still disoriented, and he only had enough time to look around to get his bearings when he saw _two_ familiar figures running his way.

“What are you doing here!?” Scott heard Jackson’s angry voice.

“Run to the nemeton!” Scott instructed.

The Hound had already turned around and was facing Scott again.

“Come this way!” Parrish shouted. “The Hound is pushing you away.”

Before Scott could answer, Parrish roared with his grotty, dark, and cavernous hell howl. The Hound lost all interest in Scott, and turned around to pursue the two newcomers.

Jackson and Parrish lost no time and legged it, running as fast as they could towards the nemeton. Scott took full advantage of his top speed to run in a wide arc away from the Hound and back to his packmates, who were truly glad to see him, even if they did not have the chance to express it.

“Why are you here?” Scott needed to ask.

“Chris in hospital,” Jackson said through heavy breathing whilst running. “We came to help.”

Scott felt his pack bond with Jackson and Parrish glow as his two friends reaffirmed their intents. They came to help. They came to banish that thing.

With the Hound now behind him, Scott soon caught Derek’s scent again and, with a gentle veer to the right, led the three of them towards the nemeton.

***

“Scott…” Chris said weakly when Dr Geyer and the Sheriff put him on a stretcher outside Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital.

“Scott is fine,” Melissa said as she held Argent’s saline IV up. “He’s fine…”

Chris did not, but the Sheriff noticed the weariness and the concern that laced Melissa’s voice.

“No… I need Scott… apologise to Scott…” Chris was struggling to breathe. “For Allison…”

“Whatever you have to tell him, you’ll have time later,” Melissa reassured him as they walked into the ER and on duty nurses took note of Dr Geyer’s instructions.

“Apologise… to you too… for Scott.”

“Don’t,” Melissa could not hold back a sob. This supernatural shit was going to be the end of her, she knew it, but there was nothing she could do about it. “Just don’t…”

“Mel…”

Melissa felt a pair of comforting hands resting on her shoulders, stopping her from following the stretcher when Chris was wheeled into the ER surgery box.

“He’ll be fine,” Noah said, and Melissa turned around and collapsed into the Sheriff’s arms, sobbing with fear and frustration. “He is in the best hands, and he is one tough bastard.

Noah’s joke got a half-sob half-laugh from Melissa. Stilinski put his arm around her shoulder and took her to the waiting room.

“What is that creature,” she said in a low voice after a few minutes of tense silence. “What did it do? What can it do to the boys?”

***

“Ethan! Derek!” Scott shouted once the orange light of the candles that were lit around the nemeton became visible in the distance, knowing well that his packmates would be able to hear him. Besides the familiar glow of candles, there was a more unsettling and unfamiliar glimmer coming through the trees, but Scott decided, for his own sanity’s sake, that he did not want to think too much about that. “We're almost there! Any chance for a little help?”

Not a minute later, Scott, Parrish, and Jackson could see the nemeton grove and the ritual ceremony taking place around the supernatural stump. As they approached the clearing, Derek and Malia, who were still in their animal shape, jabbed and attacked the flanks of the Hound, forcing it to stop, and giving the rest of their packmates a chance to turn around and position themselves.

“Why’s Liam on that side of the circle?” Parrish asked, looking over his shoulder when he saw the semi-naked beta punching furiously at the ring of mountain ash.

“Why is he in his _underpants_ ,” Jackson was baffled.

“That is a very funny story, babe,” Ethan explained with a smirk, “but I'll save it for later.”

“Good call,” Jackson nodded.

A yapping of pain drew the werewolves’ attention to the fight, where they saw that the hound had bitten Malia and thrown the coyote flying against a tree, where she slowly shifted back into her human form.

“Malia!” Parrish lashed forward, literally ablaze, trying to stop the Hound from going for the kill.

“So much for speed,” Jackson set his jaw before following the hellhound into the fray.

“Scott, wait,” Ethan said before the alpha charged in. “Deaton said the portal is not ready. We need to keep the Hound busy until Isaac does his bit.”

“What do you mean? Isaac and Stiles haven't finished yet? Why is Liam awake then?”

Ethan noticed a panic that had not been there before set on his friend's face.

“They are fighting against the cultist,” Ethan said. “But Liam says that the portal was still open, and that time passes differently there.”

“So we need to keep the Hound busy?”

“Until we know that they're done.”

Scott was silent for a couple of seconds. Ethan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed it, but the alpha seemed suddenly lost. The twin reached to him through his pack bond and tugged it for reassurance. They _trusted_ Isaac. They knew he would do it and return to them. There was no world in which Isaac would not cross through hell to go back to Scott. Scott’s eyes glowed red in determination and purpose, and he charged against the Hound, not waiting for Ethan.

The fight that followed was a painful repeat of the one they had fought up by the tower earlier on, and only slightly better than their encounter in the hospital earlier that morning. The members of the pack took turns to tackle, claw, push and punch the Hound, which only seemed to recoil back whenever Parrish burned through its aethereal body. Overall, it was tiring and draining, and Ethan, Jackson, and Derek could only take a few seconds off to breathe and will their many bleeding wounds to heal.

Inside the mountain ash, in the nemeton grove, Liam spat and cursed demanding to be let out, frustrated that he could not help his friends (his _pack_ ) in their fight against the Tindalos Hound. Mason was there with him, and he had to use all of his self-control not to let his werewolf friend out, because nobody knew what would happen if the ash seal were broken earlier than necessary. Deaton and the Sleepers stood in horror behind them, watching how the Hound relentlessly clawed and bit Scott and his pack.

But as minutes passed, Scott began to realise that they could not keep up the fight all the night. They also needed to be ready for the moment (and Scott never doubted that the time would come) when Isaac would let them know that they had succeeded. The portal needed to be open by then, so Scott and the rest would not lose any more time luring the Hound into it. Considering that they were all already tired and hurt, and fighting only with sheer will and no shortage of adrenaline, the sooner the portal was open, the sooner all of this would be over.

“Deaton!” Scott shouted while Parrish and Jackson kept the Hound away from their alpha. “We need to open the portal now.”

“The Wolf Star is still powering the Dreamland portal, Scott!” the vet shouted from his side of the ash seal.

“We need the portal to be ready when Stiles and Isaac do their bit. We will not be able to hold the Hound much longer,” Scott admitted as he held his hand against his bleeding shoulder.

“We risk missing our chance if we open it too soon. If it closes before Isaac and Stiles finish their mission we will have to start all over again from the beginning, and we won’t have time tonight,” Deaton went on. “Each and every one of us here has looked into the Hound’s eyes now. Not just the Sleepers.”

“We have to trust them. They will do it in time,” Scott managed to pull a smile. “They’re protected by the dream gods, right? Isaac is the _Wolf Knight_!”

Deaton thought for a millisecond on what the chances were realistically. He did not like the odds, but, as always, Scott’s determination and trust were inspiring and, ultimately, the reason why he succeeded on everything and anything he set his mind on, no matter the obstacles.

The veterinarian nodded, and Scott went back to the fight.

“Liam,” the druid put a hand on the beta, who was still trying to break through the invisible barrier that kept him inside the nemeton glade. “I need you here. I need you to stay around us and keep us safe while we finish the final ritual.”

“Wait, what?” the werewolf turned around, despite clearly hearing the he sounds of his friends battling the Hound still behind them. “I need to help _them_!”

“Liam, we are about to open the portal without knowing if or when Isaac, Stiles, Peter and the Pilgrims will finish their part of the plan. Once we open the portal the Hound will try to reach us and stop us—”

“What about the mountain ash?” Liam arched an eyebrow, not really liking the conclusions he was reaching.

“It is possible that the ash will not keep it out.”

“Why am I locked in here then!” the beta was as angry as he was frustrated. His teeth turned into fangs and his eyes glowed yellow.

“Because it will slow it down. It will gain us enough time to open the portal, which might just be what your friends need in the Dreamlands.”

Liam was about to protest, but he looked at Mason, who seemed to agree with the druid, and then back at Scott and the rest, who were fighting (and losing) against the Hound. If he had to be the last defence in between the Hound and the druid, then he would be. Isaac and Stiles were also risking their lives to stop the cultist, and Liam might have failed them there, but now he had another chance to help. The beta did not have to nod, or even say anything – his eyes gave Deaton all the confirmation he needed.

Soon, the druid with Mason and the sleepers (and Lydia, who was still in her strange trance) began a new incantation. This one was faster than the previous one, probably because they were in a rush, and Mason had difficulty adjusting the unfamiliar syllables to the new melody. But whatever they were singing seemed to be working.

While this was happening, Liam paced up and down the mountain ash barrier, like a bear in the zoo, seeping rage, taking deep breaths, and waiting for the moment the Hound decided to stop meddling with his pack and try to stop the portal.

The hairs on Scott’s arms suddenly stood on end. Derek, Jackson, Ethan, Parrish, and Malia also felt the strange tingling sensation that suddenly radiated from behind their backs. Unable to stop themselves, they all turned towards the nemeton, only to see that it was much brighter. The pack could sense the odd music that the sleepers were singing resonating along the telluric currents, although how they knew it was _that_ when they had never felt them before was beyond them. They were so distracted with that that they did not see the Hound leaping over them, and running towards the nemeton.

The portal, which had been dull and bland up to that point, became increasingly brighter, with sharper edges, and crackling with static. Mason looked at it and at one point he gave up on the chanting, because now he could see _through_ the mirror-like mist plane that stood upright above the stump, and he could see the _beyond_.

Liam stood in front of the Hound. The ghostly creature stood outside the mountain ash, and looked at it with beastly curiosity.

“I’m waiting for you,” Liam growled, his voice distorted by his lupine teeth.

Despite his taunting, he had never expected what he saw next.

Liam had seen Parrish _burn_ through a mountain ash barrier, but the Hound did not burn it as much as if _froze_ it solid. The supernatural barrier, normally invisible, turned into an iridescent and infinitely thin film, like a soap bubble, when the Hound pressed its paw against it. Scott and Parrish roared behind the creature, daring it to face them. But the Hound could not care less about the pack anymore. There was something else it needed. Some other souls it had marked long ago that it _needed_ first. Liam howled in defiance, still in his t-shirt and his boxers, and the Hound simply put its enormous snout through the barrier, which broke like a thin layer of ice over a puddle.

Liam took a step back and readied his claws.

The Hound took a step forward and entered into the nemeton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there is a lot happening, but we are nearing the end!


	31. Victories come at a price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I've had to change the tags, and there is now Minor Character Death(s)

Time halted. Liam had vanished, which could only mean that he had woken up. _But why?_ He had not been… killed. Had he? Not by the gugs down there, at least. Something must have happened in the awaken world, Isaac reasoned. Probably something bad. Had to be bad. Considering what they were in the middle of right now, it was definitely bad. As in very, very monumentally bad. How were they meant to tell Scott that they had succeeded now? _If_ they succeeded… Isaac was scared. Worse, he was terrified. Luckily for him, he did not have time to enjoy such luxuries as fear and panic, so he simply cursed as time slowly sped up to normal speed and the battle below resumed.

Behind him, a battle roar was cut short by a gurgling sound and spraying noise. Soon followed by Stiles shouting.

“GROSS! So, so gross… Even for such a big monster, this is way too much blood!”

Isaac turned around for a second to see his friend covered in byakhee blood and ichor, while his weapon was firmly stuck in the creature’s neck.

“Forget about that! The priestess! The _altar_!” Isaac insisted as he ran around the colonnade with his crossbow still in his hand.

As he ran, he could see Cam and nurse Walker in a fencing match. His brother with his gleaming steel rapier trying to stop the last cultist from finishing the incantation she was _still_ singing. He also tried to stab the book or distract her in some way, but the cultist matched Camden’s fighting skills. Her eyes had gone all white, which did not bode well either. Isaac willed his wolf to go and help his brother, and the enormous animal clawed at one gug and jumped to the centre of the temple, only to be smitten by the same magical barrier that had stopped Isaac’s last bolt. He felt his wolf’s pain, but he kept running.

“What are you doing?” Stiles called from behind him. He was wheezing with exhaustion and whinging in pain.

“The altar, the witch. We have to do something _now_!” he replied over his shoulder, not even turning around.

The hell trumpet stopped, and at that moment the floor of the temple began to crack and shatter. A purple-orange glow shone from beneath, momentarily blinding everyone there. Isaac had to cower and cover his face. The flash died down, but the eerie glow continued, and from the abyss that had opened, the werewolf could see black ooze pouring upwards, forming tentacles, some with eyes, some with teeth, but whatever creature (creatures?) they belonged to seemed very keen in getting out – even if that meant lashing and dragging gugs into the abyss in order to get a firmer grip on the floor.

“I- I- Isaac…” Stiles stammered. The werewolf turned around to see his friend shaking where he had crouched. Whatever he had seen in those tentacles had really been the last straw. Isaac did not know if this was a leftover from the previous summer or if his packmate had just reached his limit of weird shit, but he really did not have time for that crap right now.

“Stiles, listen, look at me!” Isaac shook his friend’s shoulder and clicked his fingers in front of his eyes. “We need to stop Walker. You need to snap out of it.”

“Isaac… Isaac?” Stiles was staring blankly into space, but he at least recognised the voice. “Isaac. Isaac. Isaac.” His hands were shaking. Through his wolf, Isaac could see that his brother was still fighting with Walker, and he begged him to help Camden. “ISAAC!” Stiles yelled one more time, close to full panic, and Isaac slapped him across the face, which was less satisfying than he had expected it to be.

Stiles went strangely calm, but his look was still lost in the distance. He then shook his head and blinked repeatedly until his eyes focused on Isaac. Stiles grabbed Isaac’s wrist as he tried to stand up, even if his whole body was shaking.

“Stiles, we need to stop that!” he tried to reason now that his friend seemed to be responsive.

“That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may _die_ …” was all that Stiles said as tears ran down his cheeks.

_Great… Now cryptic poetry?_

Before Isaac could do anything for his packmate, he felt a burning pain across his chest, and his eyes focused on what his wolf could see, which was two gugs biting into him and pulling him away from Camden, who had successfully cornered the cultist against the wall. Isaac freed himself from Stiles’ grip and walked to the edge of the circular, colonnaded corridor. He saw his wolf, and he saw himself as seen by his wolf (which was a freaking out-of-body experience he was in no rush to repeat), but he also saw that Walker and Cam were fighting right in front of him.

He got his crossbow out again and tried to aim, but Walker and his brother were still involved in their complex back-and-forth fencing demonstration; jumping up, rolling over, parrying, lunging and _not fucking staying still_. Isaac was a good shot, but he did not want to risk hitting his brother.

To make things worse, naturally, the green circle of light was steadily advancing towards the centre of the altar. Meanwhile, his brother was still duelling with the cultist. Olwyn and Coach were stuck between a wall of gugs and the mysterious black ooze that was lashing from the cracks on the ground. Peter and his wolf had been cornered and separated from the Dreamwalkers. Stiles was behind him, injured and losing it.

_Fuck!_

It was just him. It was him… or else. But he could not. How was he going to do it? He was not Scott. He was not the hero that would save the day.

_You need to take a step back_ , a voice called from inside his head. _You need to see the whole picture. Sometimes you see things you wouldn’t notice if you were up close_.

Isaac knew that voice. He knew it too well, but he had not heard it in years. The fact that the voice was speaking his own words back at him definitely helped him focus. But was it her really?

“Allison?”

The werewolf spun around, but Allison was not there.

_Take a step back_ , Allison kept saying, warmly and encouragingly. It could only be her. Isaac could feel his memories of Chris’ daughter; the first person that had taught him (after many years of darkness, abuse, and unrequited crushing) that he deserved to be loved. That he really mattered to people, not out of pity or duty, simply because of himself.

Isaac stepped back. He could see the pandemonium of that pit of hell he was in. He could see the fight, he could see the colonnaded terrace surrounding the battle between the forces of good and evil, like the Gothic paintings of Bosch he had seen in his high school books back in France.

_The whole picture, Isaac. Breathe, and look_.

The werewolf tried to apply his own logic on himself, but also tried to think as Allison would have done – like he had learned from Chris. He needed to think coldly and analytically. He looked from his viewing platform and he looked through his wolf-self. Down at the bottom, he could see the altar and, in the same line towards him and across the altar, his brother and Nurse Walker. The two elements were all aligned with him along the same axis. Either by chance or by fate (and Isaac could not help thinking about that when he still wore the brass and glass wolf brooch that the weird priest had given him when they first entered into the Dreamlands), one of the columns stood in perfect alignment with the cultist and the altar.

_Bingo._

He put his hands against the column and bit his tongue through a smirk. _Do it now, Lahey!_ He could feel Allison somehow approving of his plan, and the wolf brooch began to buzz and shine and warm up on his chest. Isaac put his shoulder on the stone and _pushed_.

***

The Hound entered the circle, and the Sleepers let out a worried scream, but Deaton shouted something that sounded reassuring in his druidic way. Liam did not understand it, but he could read the situation, and before the Hound was completely through the mountain ash line, he attacked.

The beta lashed and punched, alternating claws out and clenched fists – anything to attack the Hound and keep it outside. The aethereal creature, as oftentimes before, seemed unaffected by Liam’s attacks, and with one powerful roar and a well-timed clawed attack, the Hound sent Liam flying to the side, hitting a tree. Again.

The Sleepers began to panic, and they began to back away from the creature, and only Deaton and Lydia remained in their positions. The Hound of Tindalos growled, but before it could jump at the Greek time travellers, the rest of the pack reached the edge of the nemeton. Parrish burnt a hole through the barrier until it all collapsed, and the werewolves barged in.

Scott was the first to get into the nemeton, sinking his clawed fingers into the ghostly body repeatedly, until the Hound turned away from the sleepers to face the werewolves. Ethan and Jackson were close behind their alpha, attacking together, coordinating their punches. The fact that now they had their eyes open meant that each attack was a hit, but their skin still blistered whenever it came into contact with the cold body of the Hound, and they had to take turns with Derek and Malia if they wanted to keep their fingers.

Of course, once Parrish had made sure that Liam was only mildly concussed and that the bleeding gashes across his leg were healing, the hellhound joined in the brawl. The hellfire proved as efficient against the void cold as it did before, and with every burning punch Jordan landed, the Hound was forced to retreat a few steps, or to roll away to avoid the scorching skin of Cerberus.

Jordan and Scott concatenated a long sequence of hits that seemed to hurt the Hound. Their confidence went up and they pressured even harder. Derek and Jackson ran towards the Hound and blocked its right flank, while Malia and Ethan did the same with the left one, leaving Liam to finish the box by guarding the creature’s rear.

Parrish leaned forward and growled at the Hound before bursting into flames and lunging forward, but the Hound quickly stepped back, so that the deputy fell flat on his front. The pack had no time to react, and the Tindalos Hound brought down its powerful jaws on Jordan’s shoulder until there was a disgusting and partly liquid crunching noise. Parrish howled in very human pain, and the pack jumped all at once at the Hound, but the ghostly monster had already charged forward, pushed Scott aside, and was half way to the nemeton stump.

At that moment, the Sleepers fled in panic, each in a different direction, almost like headless chickens.

“Derek,” Scott said through gritted teeth as he spat a mouthful of blood. “Go for it. Keep it from Deaton.”

The fully-shifted werewolf did as was told. Ethan and Jackson went off with him.

“Liam!” Scott called once he managed to stand up. “Parrish!”

“He’s not well,” Liam, whose shirt had at one point been ripped off, was by the hellhound, trying to take some of his pain away. “He’s not going to be able to move it,” he nodded at the injured shoulder.

Even as they spoke the tissue around the gap in Jordan’s shoulder was healing itself, but there were a few things (polished, shiny, white-greyish, _bony_ things) protruding through the wound that Scott wished he had never seen.

“Stay with him,” the alpha ordered. Liam was about to protest, but Scott interrupted him. “He’s weak now, but he seems like our only chance. Keep him safe,” he added before he ran to help his other betas, who had managed to halt the Hound before it mauled one of the Sleepers.

“Come on, Jordan…” Liam said through his teeth as he absorbed more of his pain.

“Liam!” Mason called, startling his friend.

“What are you doing here?”

“Running away from that mean and evil _thing_ ,. And Scott is barely keeping it away.” Mason was struggling to keep his cool. He definitely looked pale, and was speaking much faster than usual. “Deaton has opened the portal, but the star hasn’t yet—Oh, _God_.” Mason then saw Parrish prone on the floor, in a pool of his blood with a broken scapula piercing through his skin.

“Mason, listen,” Liam said, licking his lips and almost pulling his hair, doing a hell of a job to keep his friend calm. “I’m going to pop that back in so that—”

“What? What? Are you—? No. I mean. No, you’re not,” Mason begged as he swallowed back bile.

“We need him,” Liam pleaded. “I mean… I am no medic, and neither are you, but I know _that_ should not be poking out.”

Liam and Mason looked at the bloodied open wound. Behind them, they heard Scott roar at the Hound and the panicked screams of the Sleepers.

“Mason?” Liam insisted. Parrish seemed to groan in approval.

“What do I do then?” Mason was now kneeling by the deputy, not knowing what exactly he was meant to do, but averting his eyes from the wound.

“Don’t let me pass out,” his friend joked.

Before Mason could say anything on the lines of ‘why’ or ‘how’ or ‘I am not ready for this and you are insane’, Liam had already placed his palm on the splintered bone and pushed it back into what he hoped was its place.

Parrish growled and his skin burst into flames, making both Liam and Mason jump away. Both screamed even after the flames died out and Parrish rolled on his back and moaned in pain.

“God. Oh, God. Oh, my goodness,” Liam was hyperventilating. “Jesus. Fuck. Parrish!”

The deputy sat up. His eyes were flaming orange and he smelled strongly of soot and sulphur. The skin on his shoulder had healed up completely.

“Follow me, werewolf,” Parrish ordered. He sounded deeper and calmer. He sounded _ancient_ , and not at all like his usual self. The fact that the fangs in his jaw were now clearly sticking out of his mouth and distorting his voice was also very unsettling. Mason had heard that Parrish’s hellfire belonged to Cerberus, the guardian of the supernatural, but he had never thought he would ever see him.

“Jordan?”

“We are running out of time, dreamwalker.”

With that Cerberus stood up and ran towards the Hound. Liam jumped up and followed, leaving Mason behind, observing the mayhem and chaos that now reigned around the nemeton.

***

Isaac heaved against the column, but the stone pillar would not budge. He groaned in effort, but he lacked his usual werewolf strength. His wolf-self was outside him, and he needed to learn how to deal with dreams without him. But he did not have time. He needed to push that effing column.

_Come on, Isaac_.

Isaac pushed. His feet lost traction on the polished floor and he fell. The battle sounds became more vivid. He quickly stood up and put his shoulder against the stone, trying to focus all of his thoughts and energies on the push. Through his inner wolf he could see the battle unfolding, but he could not locate his brother or his friends. He began to panic when the foghorn of doom bellowed again, even louder this time. Inner wolf could see that a column of smoke was rising from the altar, and that scared him shitless.

_Shit!_

Isaac pushed with all his strength. He needed to do this. He needed to go back to Scott and he owed it to his brother, to save him; to bring him back home. Saving the universe did not matter that much if he did not manage to save the people he loved. Who needs the universe, anyways?

“You are too late, Lahey!” he heard Nurse Walker shouting. He should not have been able to hear her single gloating voice above the noise, the screams, and the trumpeting. But he _could_.

“No, I’m not!” Isaac groaned, mostly to himself, as he redoubled his efforts. He was a Dreamwalker. He could dream stuff. He could _do_ this!

“No, _we’re_ not!” a determined voice said behind him.

Isaac felt Stiles coming to him. He briefly turned around to see that his packmate was, indeed, coming to help him, even if he was covered in blood, obviously in pain, and his eyes were filthy with a mix of tears and ichor. It was only then that the werewolf noticed that his crossbow in his hand was much heavier now. Heavier, more solid, definitely made of iron and, overall, not a crossbow any more.

Without even waiting, Isaac shoved the crowbar in the gap between the column and its base and pulled. He leaned on it, pulling down with all of his weight. Stiles helped him and only then, when it was the two of them working together, they noticed the column give. It had been the thinnest slither, but it had worked: there was now a small gap between the column and the base. Stiles quickly dug his bronze dagger into the tiny gap that they had created under the column to secure it. Isaac immediately repositioned the crowbar in the gap and grabbed the furthest end. Stiles limped towards him, and placed his hands on top of Isaac’s. They looked into each other’s eyes and both grinned with unsuspected confidence. Stiles’ dagger began to buzz and glow, and so did Isaac’s wolf brooch. With one quick nod, both pulled down with all their strength.

~||~

_Isaac looked up from his current fight when he heard his human-self struggling, even with the help of the human packmate. He bit deep and strongly into one of the black tentacles that were trying to drag him into the abyss until it let go and then_ howled.

_He howled because his human-self needed him. He howled because this was for Alpha and his long-lost brother. He let his human-self use his strength, and soon after the column was falling. Falling slowly but clearly in a direct line towards the altar, where the pillar of smoke was now changing into something more solid and flatter. Turning into some form of smoky mirror of unnameable and impossible colours that smelled of death and rot._

_But the pillar was also falling down on the Foe and Brother, who were fighting and completely unaware of the large stone upright coming their way._

_Isaac growled as he leaped away from the tentacles and over the dead gugs away from the column’s trajectory, running in a wide arc, hoping to reach Brother before it was too late._

~||~

Isaac felt his wolf howling – he sensed him _inside_ again, and felt his eyes changing colour in the way he could when he was awake. He pulled down with Stiles until they felt no more resistance, and they fell on their backs against the cold stone floor. In front of them, and without a groan, the column had been levered off its foundation and was now toppling over.

He stood up and pulled Stiles with him, leaving the lever down on the floor with a clang. The pillar slowly shifted and tilted until it fell, separating as it did so into different drums. The gruesome horned basket capital that had adorned the top fell directly on the altar with a whoosh, smashing the stone slab into dozens of pieces. The rest of the column collapsed on various gugs, rolling and bouncing, causing even more mayhem. Even the base, that had rolled down the slope from the terrace, ploughed through gugs and tentacles alike, before landing flat on Nurse Walker, like Dorothy’s house on the wicked witch.

Isaac however did not have much time to celebrate, because two things had gone unexpectedly wrong. The first one was the portal that had opened above the altar: even if the slab was broken, the passage into the other dimension was still _there_ ; a vortex open like a wound through which a much larger mass of claws and a giant, all-seeing _eye_ were slowly but inexorably coming through. As he looked at the destroyed remains of the sacrificial table, he could hear a teasing voice in his head, telling him that destroyed or not, the Wolf Star was still shining on the altar… The second one he saw through his wolf-self: Walker might have been crushed under a stone block as heavy as a car, but her lightning sword was not in her hand. How or when she had done it, Isaac could not tell, but her weapon was now stuck in Camden’s chest.

***

When Lydia opened her eyes to the real world, it was clear that she had been absent in the Otherworld for more than an instant, because she had never expected to see herself in the middle of a battle so quickly and so unexpectedly.

To her left, Scott was flat on his back, trying to sit up while holding a clearly hurt hand close against his chest. Derek, Jackson, and Ethan were in no better shape; Jackson definitely was limping, and Ethan’s face was half-covered in blood, in a tasteless parody of _Braveheart_. She could not immediately see Malia, but she hoped she was not far away.

In front of her she could see the portal, that slither of an alternate reality that opened directly into the void, a realm that was neither their human world, nor the Otherworld of the pure supernatural she had just returned from. It was not even connected to the Dreamlands created by the Gods of Earth. It was something else, outside our understandable time and space. It was just _beyond_. The portal was open, she could tell, but something was wrong because, to her left, she could see the Hound.

The Hound of Tindalos was unlike anything she had seen or imagined, and the vague descriptions that Liam had shared with them earlier had not done it much justice. If anything, the Hound was worse. The large semi-translucid creature was in a close fight with Parrish, who was lit like a torch, and with Liam, who for some bizarre reason she did not need to know was in his boxers.

“Lydia!” Deaton called from a pace behind her. The druid was standing with Mason, and the seven Greek time travellers were huddled behind them.

“I…”

“Liam woke up, but before he knew if Isaac and Stiles in the Dreamlands had succeeded,” Mason began to enumerate before Lydia could ask. “The portal is open, but the Wolf Star is still not powerful enough here. The Hound broke through the barrier, and now it’s erm… they’re trying to keep it busy.”

“Lydia,” Deaton said more calmly. “Your friends are keeping the Hound at bay, but they cannot keep fighting for much longer. We cannot banish it yet because we need to wait for Stiles and Isaac.”

“I could sense them…” Lydia said quickly, trying to remember exactly what she had seen while in her trance. There was a cacophony of growls and howls as the pack renewed their attacks against the Hound. “They were still there…”

“You could connect with them?” Mason’s eyebrows rose with hope. “Can you, like, telepathy-call them? Or something?”

“I imagined your banshee side would make a connection today with the Otherworld, but I never knew that you could track your pack connections,” Deaton admitted.

“ _Cavete_!” Demetria’s characteristic voice was strained to a terror shriek behind them. Lydia turned to see that the Hound had broken through the circle of werewolves and was running straight towards them.

The Sleepers dispersed in various directions away from the Hound. Deaton went to grab Lydia’s wrist to run away with her, but the banshee shrugged him off and took a confident step forward. Seeing what was about to happen, Deaton threw himself over Mason, tackling him down to the ground as he shouted ‘down! Everybody down!’ and hoped that the werewolves could hear his warning.

Lydia brought her hands up, took a quick breath and looked intently into the Hound’s empty eyes. There appeared to be a flicker of recognition, as if now that the Hound had seen Lydia (and seen into her), it knew what she was. But the monster was committed to the charge and did not stop. When the creature was about to leap, Lydia shouted.

It might have been the telluric currents, or the energy that irradiated from the portal, but her scream felt stronger. The rippling sound waves echoed in her hollowed hands, and directed towards the charging Hound, and it was blasted back, flying into the air with an unexpectedly pitiful whine. The distant echoes of her scream eventually died out. The Hound landed heavily on the ground, and the pack redoubled its efforts and jumped on it. But despite the sonic attack, its flesh was still aethereal and freezing, and its claws were still sharp and long, so with one angry attack the Hound kicked Jackson away. The former kanima hit his head against a tree with a loud knock and fell unconscious on the grass below.

Scott roared and dug his claws deep into the Hound, not pulling them out even if he felt his skin and his flesh freezing to the bone. That gave Ethan some time to crawl to his boyfriend, but the Hound slashed with his front paw in a wide arc, forcing Scott to pull out if he wanted to save himself. The Hound then rushed forward with its maw open and Derek and Malia, who were on its path, jumped aside. That left only one person standing on the way of the Hound.

“LIAM!!”

The beta prepared for the charging monster, roaring at it in defiance and dodging it with a quick sidestep a millisecond before the Hound reached him. But the creature from the void still managed to kick Liam on to the floor with its back leg as it passed by. It then did an impossible turn as Liam rolled over the floor of the nemeton grove, and it jumped on the werewolf.

Liam hardly noticed the claws digging into his forearm and his thigh. All he could feel was the pain that shocked his body when the Hound’s hollow tongue lodged itself on his side. Liam did not even scream – he just clenched his jaw and tried to fight back the tears. He could feel the creature sucking his blood and his strength out. Liam had a flashing view of the night that Scott bit him at the top of the hospital and of himself falling to the floor. All that pain seemed so mild and bearable now. The next memory he saw was of her mother marrying again. It was painful because he was being forced into a new chapter of his life, but he had been happy for his mother and had learned to love Greg. The pain from his side increased, forcing Liam to wriggle and arch his back. He then thought of Scott, trying to reach him through his pack bond. He hoped to transmit an apology for not having been able to help in the end. Liam lost the strength to fight against the Hound, that was weighing heavier on him now, and he could only think of Hayden.

The weight of the creature was taken off him. Liam did not have much time to ponder on that, because that was soon followed by a popping noise and the pain of a thousand teeth ripping his skin as the tongue they were lodged in was pulled away. At the same time, the beta sensed the whoosh of a fireball above him. A second later he heard two heavy thuds to his right, and he dared open his eyes.

“Liam!!!”

Suddenly Mason, Lydia, and Scott were by his side. He tried to lift his head to look better, but he immediately felt dizzy.

“Scott?”

He immediately felt Scott draining his pain, and Liam felt an adrenaline kick. He gasped for air and managed to sit up.

“Mason, stay with him,” Scott ordered. He looked tired and worried, but his voice was still full of his alpha determination that inspired confidence in all of the pack.

Before Liam could say anything, Scott was on his feet running towards the Hound, which was, once again, locked in a battle of fire and ice with Parrish.

Mason spoke to him, and said something or other about his wound and blood loss and healing, but Liam was not listening. All his attention was on the Hound now. Scott reached Parrish and clawed at the monster, but it seemed as if the alpha was running out of gas. His attacks were fractionally slower – either that or the Hound was getting faster. And stronger.

The Hound was focused now on attacking Scott. Liam felt a ball forming in his chest and a hollow in his stomach, because Scott was bleeding through a million cuts, and was panting, and Liam had only seen him like that one time. And he had caused it. In the corner of his eye he saw Malia and Derek struggling to their feet and running to help their alpha. Parrish was also there to help Scott, although the hellhound’s flames also seemed dimmer and colder.

Jordan wrapped his arms around the Hound, and Liam could hear the sizzling noise of the intense heat and the deadly cold colliding, even from the distance. Parrish groaned as he rolled over, dragging the Hound with him. After two spins, the deputy let go and the Hound rolled even further. But when it got back on its feet it did not turn to fight the hellhound or any of the werewolves. It turned to the Sleepers and the druid, who happened to be closer.

Liam tried to shout, but he was too weak. There was something warm on his side. Everything slowed down as he struggled to brush Mason off and stand up to warn them, but the Hound was already there. Liam’s head was pounding, and his mouth was dry, and before everything faded to black, he could see how the Hound lashed with one of its claws at one of the time travellers, sinking its hollow tongue into them.

***

Stiles opened his mouth three or four times before he could say something. “Dude!” was all he managed to say in the end.

But Isaac did not linger back with Stiles. He just growled with a mixture of frustration, impotence, fear, and rage. Before he could say anything else, he _sensed_ Scott howling. It was an alpha howl, a supernatural challenge in the awaken world rumbling _inside_ him and inside his wolf. Stiles must also have sensed it, because he looked up at Isaac with an expression of unexpected extra fear.

“Scott.”

“The Hound...”

“And Liam is gone.”

“Fuck.”

Without saying anything else, Isaac jumped down the edge, sliding down the rut carved by the collapsing column while his wolf-self went over to where Cam was lying and groaning in pain. In the corner of his eye he could see Coach and Olwyn reaching Camden too, pulling the weapon from him and applying pressure on the wound. When he got to the base of the cavern, he jumped over the cracks on the ground, wasting no time, making a beeline towards where the altar had been; towards the broken remains of the slab that were still illuminated by the Wolf Star.

The moment the portal opened, the gugs had gone completely berserk, and now that _something_ was coming through it, they completely lost their shit. They did not even attempt to stop Isaac, busy as they were dancing, waving their hands in the air, and croaking with their guttural voices, welcoming the crawling chaos from the other dimension. Whatever being was coming out from the portal was inching its way out, but Isaac would not let it through.

The werewolf leaped and jumped until he was at the centre of the cave, underneath the opening vortex, on top of the remains of the altar. Up, through the mists of the portal, and past the clawed abomination that was pushing its way through, Isaac thought he could see the abyss containing the chaos and the emptiness that followed the Outer God. He dared not look at it directly (and he did not have enough will power to force himself to look at _that_ even if he had wanted to), but even with the blurry and partial glimpse that he caught in the corner of his eye he was completely aware of what was at stake.

_The altar is now a smashed pile of rubble. What else on Earth needs doing? Stop the star from shining on the altar, but how?_

Isaac noticed how the wolf pin on his chest glimmered under the starlight, reflecting even the odd light that came from across the portal. At once Isaac grabbed the brooch that the priests had given him when he entered into the Dreamlands, and looked at it carefully as it continued shining in his palm. At his feet, the concentrated light of the Wolf Star still shone on the broken altar, causing the blood sign drawn onto the slab to burn the stone into glass. Isaac considered this option for a fraction of a second.

_At this stage… what_ else _could possibly go wrong?_

Isaac reached up and held the brass and glass brooch above his head, over the altar, and stepped forward to block the pillar of starlight from touching the stone with his own body.

_There goes nothing_.

His skin felt like burning when he stepped into the starlight, but then the brooch _buzzed_. Next there was a blinding light and a wave of absolute silence.

As sound slowly waved back, Isaac could feel the brooch rattling in his hand, so he tightened his grip. The light of the Wolf Star was no longer shining on him, or on the altar, but it was rather being _absorbed_ into the jewel of the Gods of Earth, like a glowing whirlpool of cosmic energy. With every second, the brooch grew colder in his hand, which did not seem right, but Isaac knew he could not let go of it, fearing that if he let go, the Wolf Star would shine again on the altar.

The brooch grew heavier, or maybe the starlight was pushing him down, but Isaac was soon forced down on to his knees while his skin got stuck to the freezing cold metal. The jewel began to shake and to emit a low hum as it continued to suck the glow of the Wolf Star into it, like a miniature, portable black hole. To his surprise, the portal began to shrink and close.

A smug grin grew on Isaac’s face as he looked at the slowly closing portal, especially when he saw that the gugs which had been ecstatic around him were now in full blown panic. But his smile quickly faded when the giant claws that came out of the portal gave up on keeping it open and decided to lash at him. Isaac fell flat on his back, fearing that one of the alien claws might rip him to shreds, but every time one of the talons tried to gouge him, they hit an invisible barrier that emanated from the brooch. Being a champion of the Gods of Earth apparently had its perks. Despite this, the claws kept pushing and the brooch kept getting heavier and heavier. Isaac began to fear that he might get crushed alive.

But the portal kept getting smaller and smaller. The ginormous claws from the beyond one by one retreated, until only one remained, and a voice from beyond cried an echoing roar of frustration and boiling rage. Against his will, Isaac was forced to turn his head and to look at what was beyond the portal: an _eye_ at the centre of the abyss that engulfed the crawling chaos. The infinite deep eye stared at him, looking straight into him with all the evil intent of the beyond and shaking his soul, making him shiver.

_Wolf Knight_ , an angry voice hissed inside Isaac’s head. He closed his eyes.

Around him, the entire temple shook. A handful of columns fell from their plinths, crushing the fleeing gugs. The floor, that until then had been cracking and opening, shuddered, and the broken rock crumbled into shifting sands that sealed the rifts and drowned the tentacle creatures that had tried to break through. Peter and his wolf managed to jump away, getting to safety by climbing up the spiral stairs. Coach and Olwyn had to climb up on the fallen remains of the column, and they managed to pull Camden up there.

Meanwhile, Isaac remained lying flat at the centre of the cavern floor, on the broken remains of the altar, surrounded by a chaotic mayhem of shifting sands burning into glass, rolling broken columns, fleeing gugs, and an ever-diminishing portal. Isaac felt his wolf jump towards him, rubbing and nuzzling his head against Isaac’s chest before looking up as the vortex finally closed down. The last claw retreated back and a cosmic rumble echoed through the portal before falling silent when the smoky plane that opened to the other dimension disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Up above, the Wolf Star ceased to be. In his hand, the wolf brooch stood still, the air around it condensing into a thin mist because of its sub-zero temperature. Isaac looked into his wolf-self’s eyes and both howled up into the domed ceiling of the temple.

***

The Hound stood over the dead body of one of the Sleepers. Scott could not see which one it was, but it was still a failure. From the look of things (with Liam and Jackson passed out and unconscious, Chris critical in the hospital, Isaac and Stiles still in the Dreamlands, and the rest of the pack slowly tiring away) it was probably not going to be their last one. Thankfully, Lydia was helping them out now – her screaming was definitely being far more effective than any of their claws.

Derek and Parrish were fighting the Hound again, stopping it from butchering the remaining sleepers, and Scott was about to join in when a high-pitched hum blasted from the nemeton, forcing him to cover his ears.

“Scott!” Deaton called once the noise died out. “The portal is closing!”

Scott’s eyes opened wide in fear and surprise when he heard that. He looked towards the portal that hovered over the nemeton stump only to see that it was, in fact, slowly shrinking. The unnatural smoky fog that had been slowly drifting out of it was now being sucked back, like bath water down the drain. The multicoloured flashes of light that had crackled around it were also dimmer and less frequent.

Everything that could go wrong was going wrong, apparently, but the only thing Scott could think of at that moment was his boyfriend, who was God knows where with Coach and Peter. At least Stiles was with him, but it should be _him_ , not Stiles. Scott had to trust that they would be successful, and that they would come back, but looking around him at that moment did not fill him with confidence.

“We need to try and push the Hound regardless,” Scott decided, shouting aloud to no one in particular.

“It won’t work,” Deaton ran towards him. “If we push it through the portal now, the Hound simply will materialise somewhere else.”

“Will that buy us time to do all this again?” Scott waved his hand in a wide circle to indicate the ritual.

“If Isaac and Stiles don’t do their part it will be pointless,” Deaton tried not to sound too defeated. “But yes, it will give us _some_ time…”

Scott nodded and left the druid behind as he ran to fight the Hound. The alpha reached the combat just as Parrish punched the creature with his flaming fist, sending it a few paces back.

“We need to corner it against the portal,” he instructed. Parrish and Ethan were already by his side, and so were Derek and Malia, who had still not shifted back to their human shapes. The pack rushed to form a semi-circle. “Now!”

The five of them advanced as one, and the Hound repositioned itself a few steps behind, but Scott’s manoeuvre had worked, and now the creature was in between them and the portal. The Hound, of course, was not ready to be pushed any further back, and the fight that followed was even bloodier than any of the previous skirmishes. The Hound fought like a literal wounded and cornered animal, and Scott and his packmates suffered the consequences.

The Hound every now and then managed to put one of the members of the pack on the ground, but before it could sink its jaws or its claws, someone came to the rescue. And while this worked, it was a titanic effort that was taking its toll on the werewolves. Inevitably, the moment came when Scott was pinned under the Hound’s paws, although this time it was Lydia who saved their friend.

The banshee alerted her friends before bellowing her supernatural scream, which peeled the Hound off Scott and sent it flying until it landed heavily on the nemeton – almost touching the portal.

“Lydia?”

“Your crazy plan is the only thing we have,” she said as she pulled him up. Scott could tell that Lydia was furious, although something inside told him it had probably more to do with the lack of news from the Dreamlands than with the ongoing fight.

The Hound stood back up with its rear almost touching the misty mirror surface of the portal. Scott took a step forward in a clear sign of defiance, and the Hound growled. Its snarling threat, however was matched by the howls of Parrish and Ethan, and of Derek and Malia. And of Scott.

The true alpha’s eyes glowed bright red and he seemed to grow a foot as he howled. It was a primeval and cavernous howl that shook the preserve and that reverberated and was amplified by the roars of his packmates and that drowned and muted the growl of the Hound. It was a howl that carried more than just the power of the wolf and the pack; it was a howl with the strength that the Gods of Earth had granted their champion. It was a howl that challenged every right the Hound had to be in that plane of existence.

The pack and the Hound stood still for a second while the howling challenge died.

Scott was ready to lunge forward in a last desperate attack when he felt Lydia’s hand on his shoulder, holding him back. She was staring blankly at the distance, with an expression that Scott had seen too many times.

“Lydia what—”

“Listen,” she said as she gingerly moved her hand from Scott’s shoulders to Scott’s face. Scott let her do, even if her lips were trembling and her hand was suddenly very cold.

When Lydia finally found Scott’s cheek, the werewolf was about to ask, but then he heard it too. He could hear it within him, not with his ears. It was more the memory of a sound than an actual noise – even if he had no recollection of when he had heard it. One thing was sure, in any case: he was hearing a howl that he knew too well. He was hearing Isaac. He had done it. He had stopped the cultist in the dreams!

For the briefest instant Scott felt like smiling, but then Lydia bobbed her head slightly and a single tear ran down her cheek.

Scott knew she was about to scream, but he also knew that this time it was not going to be an attack; it was going to be a premonition.

***

Demetria witnessed the howl exchange from afar.

She and her companions had retreated to a corner of the nemeton, away from the fight. They had managed to retrieve Themistios from the claws of the Hound, but his life and his soul had been drained from him. He now lay next to two of the lycanthropes, although they were only unconscious. In front of them, all the runes and lines and signs they had marked on the ground around the nemeton had been trampled and smudged by the fighting lycanthropes. All the candles and fires were out. The only light was the glimmer of the portal and the orange glow that came from the city.

Demetria dared have a last moment of hope when the alpha startled the Hound, but Demetria’s confidence died rapidly when she heard Lydia’s screech.

Lydia, like Cassandra, was cursed by Apollo, only that Lydia’s premonition did not announce the fall of Troy. It announced their failure.

“Look!” Aurelius pointed at the sky, ignoring Lydia’s wail.

Demetria turned around automatically, and she could see what her friend was suddenly so excited about. The Wolf Star had burst. It was no longer a greenish-purple glimmer in the sky – it had turned into a large fiery disc that hung directly above the nemeton. Just as she was thinking that, the portal they had opened, and that had been slowly receding in the last minutes, suddenly glowed and hummed.

“It’s active…”

“The dreamwalkers have done it!”

“We can push it away now. Druid! _Druid!_ ”

The druid, who was not far from them, had also seen the star, and was now shouting in his barbarous language. He was probably telling the alpha that the time was right, and that they had to push the Hound now, but Demetria could not understand.

Whatever he said, the lycanthropes and Cerberus restarted their fight against the Hound. But for all their efforts, the Hound was still strong, and they were growing tired and weak. One of the lycanthropes, a girl who had turned into a small brown wolf, was at one point pushed away and forced back to her human self. She tried to stand up to fight again, but she only managed to crawl a short distance before passing out. Lydia screamed at the Hound, but the monster had learnt and was ready to jump away and dodge the yell or to attack one of her friends so Lydia had to stop, lest she injured the lycanthrope too.

Minutes passed and the fight did not advance any further. The Hound _knew_ that it simply had to wait until the portal, which was waning at an alarming speed, completely closed behind it.

“They’re not going to make it,” Heraklios said after a short while, voicing everyone’s silent fear. “The Hound is too powerful for the lycanthropes. Druid!” he turned to look at the druid. “This is all your fault! Your solution to our problem was to open a portal but then you had nothing to push it through!”

“The portal is still not—” the druid began to say with calm, but Heraklios would not let him explain himself.

“ _No_! One of us has already died, and the rest of us will be next!”

“Remember, Heraklios,” Demetria intervened, “that his friends are also marked by the Hound.”

“Oh yes, because the death of a tribe of barbarian lycanthropes dying before me is so comforting.”

“They would be dying _for_ you,” Aurelius surprised everyone with his harsh tone. “They are giving us a chance. They did not have to do it, but they did. Their red-eyed champion is helping us, remember!”

“Only because his blonde wolf has been marked by the Black Pharaoh – he didn’t have a choice!”

“You’re insane,” Demetria spoke. “Do you really think that the Black Pharaoh would have marked the lycanthrope if we hadn’t broken through the rift of time?”

“We don’t know,” the druid tried to calm their discussion, which was fuelled more by fear than by anger. “We cannot know, and we probably shall never know.”

“The druid is right,” Aurelius said as he turned away from them, to look at the portal which continued to shrink and at the pack that fought a losing battle against the Hound. “We cannot know. If we knew we would be dead or insane already. What _I_ know is that whatever happened, it all started with my foolish plan to reach the origin of the world.”

“Aurelius?”

But before the philosopher could give an explanation he darted off, running through the nemeton-turned-battlefield, heading straight towards the portal.

“Wait, Aurelius!” Demetria yelled as she ran after him. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m putting an end to this. I am luring the Hound into the portal…” Aurelius said without breaking his run.

“You’ll die, Aurelius! Don’t be foolish!” Demetria insisted when she finally caught up with him. But Aurelius refused to answer.

By that point, the two time travellers had reached the nemeton stump, where the Hound was still fighting a handful of tired and bloodied lycanthropes. Lydia saw them first, but she shouted at them in their barbarian language, although it would not have made a difference if she had tried in Latin because Aurelius seemed determined. Even when Demetria jumped at him and held him, the older man wriggled himself away, shouting that it was the only solution, that it was all his fault, and that the price was his to pay.

Aurelius stepped on top of the tree stump and shouted loudly. Demetria could only watch in terror as the Hound clawed Cerberus away and turned around to look at the defenceless mortal in front of it. The red-eyed lycanthrope jumped at the Hound, trying to stop it from attacking, but there was nothing he could do. Aurelius stood by the portal, ready to jump through when the Hound was close enough, but the aethereal creature was faster than he had calculated, and a clawed paw gouged him before he could cross into the void.

“Noooo!!!” Demetria screamed as the Hound stuck its hollow tongue into her friend’s chest and sucked his life away.

Lydia screamed at the Hound, but the monster bit Aurelius’ lifeless corpse and jerked it at her. The lycanthropes and Cerberus were quick to jump on the nemeton. They were clearly fighting with their last ounces of strength, and the Hound was having little trouble to keep them at bay, almost like a cat that had trapped a mouse.

The portal kept shrinking and shrinking. They were running out of chances. The lycanthropes were not going to do it. So Demetria reached the only logical conclusion. She stood up, and time slowed down.

In one step she reached the edge of the tree, stepping on the last remains of ritual salt. In her second step, she was already on top of the nemeton and behind the Hound, which had just snapped its triple jaws on the leg of a large black wolf. With her third step she yelled with all her strength. Lydia and the three standing lycanthropes looked at her. The red-eyed leader’s face was a harsh mask of impotence broken by resignation. Her fourth step brought her feet close enough to the Hound’s non-skin to feel the freezing cold, but she was not looking back anymore – she was staring at the void in front of her. She brought her hand forward to touch the thin surface of the mirror that divided the two worlds and, as she touched it, she could see the beyond in her mind. She could see the world of impossible colours floating in an empty space, of stars clustered in cosmic dust specks. She could see a world dominated by a dreaming daemon-sultan, a corrupted mass that stood in the centre of the universe. And then she _knew_. It felt as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes. No – it was as if she was able to see for the first time. She understood the lies of our universe, and the limits of our understanding. Demetria did not feel when the Hound stabbed her back with its freezing claws as she took her fifth step. She did not feel the sucking tongue digging deep into her back. She only felt the darkness growing around her, and the desperation and helplessness that came with the true understanding.

Demetria tripped before taking her sixth step, and she fell forward, falling eternally into the void, until everything turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Hound is banished! Huzzah! Or is it? We're nearing the end of the fic, and I'm not sure I can believe it...
> 
> Anyroad, if you've made it this far, thank you a million! You've probably unlocked an achievement, and you deserve a medal. Thanks for keeping up, for your patience, and for the kudos.


	32. Fate fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then Lydia stopped walking and her eyes went glassy. She looked at Liam, but then turned her head with her fixed lost stare and pointed at Scott. Her lip began to tremble. She was fighting back a scream.  
> “Oh, no,” Scott felt panic taking over him. They were safe! The Hound was gone! “No, no, no. Lydia, don’t.”
> 
> OR: The pack has to face one last hurdle before they are reunited

The echo of Isaac’s howl died out. The sands on the floor froze into polished glass. The gugs disappeared into their underground caverns and tunnels. Everything went eerily silent until Stiles called out in a terrified voice.

“Isaac, come here!”

The werewolf knelt down to pick up the brooch and then rushed to Stiles.

His friend was leaning against the cavern wall next to Coach and Olwyn, who were kneeling down next to Camden. A blood puddle had formed below him and next to the bloodied sword that Nurse Walker had been using, even if now it was dull and grey rather than sparkling lightning. His brother was bruised from the fight, but Isaac had not expected to see him so pale and sweaty and _ill_.

“Cam!” Isaac shouted as he rushed, falling on his knees next to his big brother. His wolf-self was also there, trying to lie around Camden to keep him warm, comfortable, and safe. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit-shit. What happened?”

Isaac felt dizzy, and he very nearly was sick. He had been in far more fights and battles than anyone his age should have, and he had seen his friends and his boyfriend being injured (sometimes quite badly), but his friends and his boyfriend healed. They always healed. At least most of them healed. Allison had not. And now, his brother –his big brother that had come back from death and oblivion to him— was supine on the ground much like Allison had been all those years ago. And, yet again, there was a dark and cold sword, stained in blood, by the side of his loved one. The werewolf did not know how he felt, because he was feeling too much at the same time: he was furious, he was sad, and he was scared, all at once.

“Hey Zac,” his brother struggled to say with a smile.

“We pulled the blade, and we have patched him,” Coach sighed. He sounded tired. His hands and his clothes were covered in blood. “But we need to get him to a hospital.”

“Okay, okay… We can heal him, right?” Isaac decided, not listening to what Bobby had just said, and only asking for confirmation. “We- we- we can dream him better. We can heal him here.” Tears were running down his face as he held his hand and _wished_ to draw the pain from him, but nothing happened.

“That won’t work here,” Olwyn said, seeing what Isaac was trying to do.

“Well, you can heal him with your dream magic! You can use your dreamy jedi shit, can’t you?” Isaac snapped. Stiles tried to put a soothing hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he brushed it off.

“That’s not how it works,” the Pilgrim said calmly, trying to be reassuring. “We can patch him up, but he needs proper care outside.”

“No,” Isaac insisted. “No. Jesus, can’t you see? He can’t move! We need to heal him here and now. And why can’t I take his fucking pain!”

“Zac—” Camden coughed.

“No,” Isaac interrupted his brother before he could say something he really did not want to hear.

“Zac…”

“No, Cam. Shut up. I will find a way!” Isaac could not stop his eyes from crying. With his left hand he squeezed his brother’s arm, without taking any of his pain, while his right one carefully made sure that the bandages that Coach and Olwyn had put on him were firmly in place.

“ _Isaac_ ,” Camden said with a tired sigh, and he squeezed his brother’s wrist. At that moment Isaac felt all his remaining strength being drained from him. His wolf-self whined as he licked Camden’s wounds and nuzzled him with his nose. “Listen. I do not belong here. I’m not a dreamwalker.”

“But _I_ am, and I will fucking sort this out,” Isaac insisted.

“I know you will hate me for being the voice of reason,” Peter spoke up. “But you need to get your brother out of here. Now that the prophecy has been fulfilled he can finally go. His time here is done. And there is little else we can do.”

“He can’t walk all the way back to that tower, he’ll bleed out!” Isaac sobbed, saying aloud what everyone could see. “Why can’t we wait here until he heals? When he’s better he can ride on my wolf, and we’ll take him somewhere—”

“Isaac,” Stiles muttered, all their care about using their Dreamlands names long forgotten. “We need to get out. All of us. We can’t stay here forever.”

“I don’t see why not. You go ahead. I’ll stay here with him,” Isaac was being stubborn. “We’ll catch up when he’s better.”

“Zac, don’t worry about me,” Cam said, surprisingly calm now. “I got to see you one last time, which is all I wanted. I even got to apologise, and I am so proud of the man you’ve become. Heck, the _werewolf_ you’ve become! Out there you’ve got your friends and your new family, and your boyfriend!”

“My… Scott?” Isaac’s face changed. His eyes were still red from crying, but there was something else behind them. An idea was definitely forming.

***

Demetria disappeared through the portal, but so did the Hound, which had followed the Greek woman through the open rift and fallen into the void beyond. Scott blinked twice as the portal kept shrinking until it vanished. No more portal; no more Hound.

The nemeton grove was suddenly quiet and dark, the kind of unsettling peace that follows the loudest storms. Only the agitated breathing of his pack broke the unnatural silence that reigned in that corner of the preserve. Using his enhanced wolf sight, Scott took a few ginger steps towards the nemeton, but he sensed nothing out of the ordinary once he reached the intersection of the supernatural currents. He stood on top of the stump and, other than the rubbery substance that coated the ancient tree, there was nothing there for him to see. The alpha dared not shout it aloud, but he was pretty sure that they really had done it.

Scott did let out a sigh, though. He fell on his knees as his adrenaline rush crashed and his legs wobbled. He tried to stand up, but his head was spinning, so he had to sit down and fall on his back.

“Scott, are you okay?” Parrish called as Scott pinched his nose and breathed the silent night air in.

The alpha managed to sit up, but he had to rest his head in his hand as he looked around to check on his pack. Parrish’s skin was slowly burning and healing the cuts and the frostbite from inside out. He looked drained. Ethan was no better; the twin was struggling to get back on his feet, and he even vomited on his way to Jackson, who was still lying unconscious by Deaton. Lydia was more in shock than physically hurt. She was sat on the ground dabbing the hem of her blouse on the corner of her eyes. Derek and Malia were together and very naked, since they had returned to their human form. At least they were slowly healing. Scott was most surprised when Mason came to him and sat by his side, throwing an arm over the alpha’s shoulder.

“This is new,” Scott managed a chuckle. “I’m the alpha; surely it’s me who has to be comforting and reassuring?”

“We’re a pack,” Mason smiled. “We take care of each other.”

“How’s Liam?”

“He’s okay. He’s consoling Cleomena.”

Scott did not ask more. The Sleepers had seen two of them killed by the Hound, and one of them sacrificing herself to save all of them. It was a hard pill to swallow.

“Are _you_ okay?” Mason asked, still half-hugging Scott.

“Just slowly healing…”

“That thing was a bitch to fight.”

“And despite everything, I’m not sure that other than Lydia or Parrish any of us really harmed it…”

With that, the alpha stood up (only with a little help from Mason) and he pulled his phone out to ring his mother. While he spoke with her, he went around the nemeton, pulling up and bringing with him the members of his pack. Chris was, thankfully, stable, and he was going to pull through this one, and Scott knew that his mother was only half joking when she said that she was going to have a very serious talk with Chris about retirement and his involvement in the supernatural.

Eventually they were all gathered together. Unsurprisingly, the Sleepers were the ones coping worst of all, and there was little that Scott or the pack could do, other than offer them mute comfort. They had only known each other for a few hours, but everyone there could relate because they all had lost someone to supernatural forces.

Jackson finally came around, and Ethan sat with him and held his hands as he explained what had happened while he was out. Liam stood up and left Cleomena to cry on Hypathia’s shoulder. The youngest beta walked to Scott and the alpha brought him in a silent hug. Liam pulled out a bit, only to rest his forehead on Scott’s.

“Isaac will be okay,” the beta told Scott without prompt, and the alpha gave him a thankful smile.

“We should get going,” Derek said in a sombre voice, although the fact that he was still naked undermined his seriousness. He was right, of course, but none of them felt like leaving yet. The bodies of the two time travellers were still lying around the nemeton.

Heraklios, who had become the spokesman for the sleepers, whispered something to Deaton, who nodded silently before pausing for a few seconds. He then replied something and pointed at Parrish. The four remaining Sleepers conferred silently amongst themselves before Heraklios nodded.

“Deputy, the Sleepers would be honoured if you let your friends into Hades,” Deaton explained. Parrish’s eyes glowed orange in understanding, and with a grim face he walked back towards the nemeton, closely followed by the four Greeks.

“What do we do now?” Malia asked as she looked around in the odd chance that there were some abandoned clothes waiting for her. Behind them, they heard Parrish sing aloud what was clearly an Ancient Greek hymn as he burned the bodies.

“I’m going to the tower to wait for Isaac and Stiles,” Scott was tired, but his boyfriend and his best friend were still in the Dreamlands. “The Sheriff is going to be there anyways, so I think I’ll keep him company.”

“I’ll come with,” Liam said.

“Yeah, I guess it’s safe to say that we all are coming with you,” Jackson said as he tried to stand up without success.

“You can all go to get some rest,” Scott told his pack. “I know we’re all tired—”

“Scott, don’t argue,” Lydia waved her hand, dismissing the alpha’s thought. She looked really tired. “It’s our boyfriends and our packmates in there.”

“And Malia’s dad,” Ethan pointed out, although nobody seemed very moved by this clarification.

“We all care. We are all coming,” Derek smiled. Scott would have found that very touching had he not still been naked. The fact that Derek was being completely not bothered by the fact that his dangling bits were all out _al fresco_ made it all even weirder.

Once they cleared with Deaton and Parrish that they would stay with the Sleepers, the pack made its way to the cars so they could drive to the tower. But then Lydia stopped walking and her eyes went glassy. She looked at Liam, but then turned her head with her fixed lost stare and pointed at Scott. Her lip began to tremble. She was fighting back a scream.

“Oh, no,” Scott felt panic taking over him. _They were safe! The Hound was gone_! “No, no, no. Lydia, don’t.”

Scott began to hyperventilate. His pulse pounded in his ears. His inner wolf suddenly stirred in deep, soul-shattering fear. Subconsciously he missed his inhaler.

Scott looked around him and tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. Behind him, to the east, the sky was turning from blue to purple to pink to yellow. But in front of him the sky was still a dark blue, darker than it had the right to be. And setting in the northwest, just behind the hills where the tower was, Scott could see a green point of light, snarling at him with a last act of defiance.

***

Stiles could see Isaac’s hopeful, almost pleading, grin. He immediately knew what his friend was thinking, so he looked at Peter, who gave a nondescript shrug.

“Isaac, are you sure?” Stiles ventured.

“It might work,” Peter commented unprompted.

“What are you on about, Zac?” Cam, other than pale and in pain, was now confused. “What has this got to do with Scott?”

“It will work,” Isaac decided. “It will! It has to… I mean… It worked for me, right? And we’re both Laheys. We have the- the _gene_. He can take the Bite.”

“If he’s not too weak by the time we get him out,” Peter cautioned.

“What Bite?” Cam insisted.

But before anyone could explain, Cam scrunched his face in pain and he bent over in Isaac’s arms.

“Cam!”

“We need to get him out of here now,” Coach insisted.

As he said this, the ceiling of the cavern temple erupted with a flock of flying creatures that descended upon them.

“Great…” Peter reached for his sword as his wolf got ready for the fight.

“Wait, wait!” Olwyn put a placating hand on the werewolf.

The dreamwalkers looked up to see a dozen or more black horned figures gliding silently from the oculus of the temple.

“Nightgaunts…”

The mouthless creatures landed softly around the dreamwalkers, twisting their forked tails as if resisting their raw instincts to tickle them into submission. Olwyn stepped forward and said a few words in an arcane language that only Coach seemed to understand. The nightgaunts nodded in unison like a murder of crows.

“Caradoc,” Olwyn said solemnly, talking to Isaac. “The Gods of Earth even now still smile upon you.”

Isaac did not know what all this was about, but if it was going to help Camden, all these faceless demons could have anything they wanted. Olwyn extended her hand and Isaac followed her eyes to his own hand, where he was still clutching the frozen wolf brooch. The blond werewolf understood and he slowly handed it over to the Pilgrim, but she moved away until one of the nightgaunts, the largest of them all, put its large clawed and clammy hand forward. Isaac looked at Coach and Olwyn for a second, who nodded back. He then looked at Stiles and lastly at his brother, who was still in pain. Isaac took one more step and handed the brooch over.

The nightgaunts, all of them, wriggled as their apparent leader accepted the jewel.

“What now? Are you going to help us or what?” Isaac shouted. His eyes were burning. His wolf noticed Isaac’s distress and got ready for a fight.

The nightgaunts began to beat their large bat-like wings and took off. They hovered over the floor, making odd head movements and touching each other with their tails. Isaac’s wolf sensed his human-self’s rage bubbling, and he was about to jump at one of the black flying creatures when the nightgaunts flew up. Isaac was about to explode in anger, when the nightgaunts nosedived and picked them up one by one, carrying them up to the temple oculus and disappearing into the night air.

Isaac tried to dodge them as he raced back to his brother, but just as he was about to reach him, a nightgaunt landed by Camden’s side and picked him up, carrying him off.

“Cam! CAM!”

A nightgaunt tried to take him but Isaac resisted. The nightgaunt tripped him over with its tail and, once he was on the floor, the horned faceless demon used its claws and its tail to tickle Isaac into submission. The werewolf cursed and wriggled, but there was nothing he could do other than to laugh and giggle and chuckle without mirth. Eventually he gave up and let the nightgaunt carry him away.

Isaac saw far below the remains of the temple, with the broken segments of the column that crushed the altar and the cultist tossed around. He could see the bottom ring, and the spiral corridor. He could see the entrances to the tunnels and caverns of the gugs, and he saw the arched door they had crossed when they first got into the temple. The nightgaunt then soared upwards through the oculus, and Isaac could now see the ruins of Irem and the desert that surrounded it.

The desert gave way to the savanna and the obsidian obelisk where they had abandoned their zebras. Only then did Isaac manage to get his bearings, finally realising that the nightgaunts were taking him towards the Moon Tower (or so he wanted to think). But Isaac dared not bring up his hopes, because his brother was still groaning in pain, despite the unexpectedly delicate grip of the nightgaunts.

The black, faceless creatures landed them softly on the green grass outside the tower, and flew away without any delay, disappearing into the golden mists of the eastern sky. Isaac and his wolf-self rushed towards Camden once they were all on the grass to make sure that his brother was all good.

“He’s conscious,” Coach, who had been by his side all along, clarified. “But whatever you want to try with McCall you need to get him out of here now.”

Without even thinking for a second, Isaac knelt down and placed his arms under his brother so he could carry him. Isaac grunted and struggled without his usual werewolf strength, because Cam was heavier than what he seemed.

“Here is where I leave you,” Olwyn said. Isaac turned around only to nod and give her a hint of a smile, despite his worried eyes. The Pilgrim acknowledged the hurry, so she did not linger. “It was great to see you again, and I am sure we will meet again.”

“See you again?” Stiles looked confused. The way the Pilgrim had said it made him think that she _knew_ Isaac from somewhere else. The only somewhere else had to be in the awaken world. But before Stiles could ask either the Pilgrim or his friend, the former vanished after touching her golden medallion, whereas the latter had barged into the tower carrying his injured brother with his massive wolf-self tailing behind.

“Nah, don’t even look at me like that,” Coach warned when Stiles turned to him. “I don’t know either, and it’s better if you don’t find out.”

“Let’s not linger much around, shall we? I’m not sure I’m welcome here any longer,” Peter said looking around the tower with suspicion before Coach hurried him and Stiles into the building.

***

Scott did not wait for anyone. When Lydia stopped screaming, he _ran_. He ran faster than he thought he ever had, ignoring the pleas and calls of his packmates, who wanted him to wait for them. But Scott could not wait. Lydia had screamed, which could only mean one thing, and he dared not think about it. The alpha backtracked his steps as the sun slowly but steadily rose behind him. He was tired beyond exhaustion. He was hurt and injured. But that did not matter anymore. _Not if Isaac—_ Scott shook those thoughts away and gritted his teeth as he tried to run faster. Scott knew that Stiles was down there too, but something inside him told him that his friend was all okay.

His inner wolf reached out through their pack bond, searching for his boyfriend. Inner wolf only reached the same vague distant presence that had been so encouraging earlier, but that now was beyond unnerving. Inner wolf felt the need to howl, which Scott did.

The alpha dashed through the preserve, which had a surprising number of Isaac-shaped memories. The nemeton was obviously the main focus of those thoughts, starting with the root cellar where he was nearly trapped with Allison and their parents and culminating with the cultist invocation of the previous summer. But there were other places, where Isaac had his leg clamped by a bear trap set by Mr Tate, or the spot he had apparently stopped one of Allison’s arrows from hitting Lydia. At one point, Scott knew that, if he looked to his right, he would see the place where Isaac had fallen down a Mi-Go tunnel. Last summer he had been there for Isaac, and he had been able to go down a stinky hole to save him, but now he had let him go down a different stinky hole that led to who-knew where? And Peter was meant to help him?

_Do not split the party_.

Scott could hear Isaac’s voice repeating his stupid, annoying, dorky, and adorable _D &D_ mantra in his head. His eyes began to sting. Why did he not listen? He had been so certain that they had to do that, that there was no other way to deal with their current shitstorm. But had they thought it thoroughly enough? Was there anything else they could have done? Anything else _he_ could have done? Scott pushed the thoughts away and let Inner Wolf take over the wheel.

It did not take Scott much to reach the main road, which he crossed over in one single leap, and from there it was all uphill towards the tower. By the time he reached the hilltop, the old remains of the tower were gilded with the golden light of dawn. There was a car there, and a very startled Sheriff.

“Scott!” Scott fell to his knees to take a few deep breaths and force himself to shift back. The Sheriff came to him and put a hand on his shoulder as he produced a bottle of water. “Scott, what’s wrong?”

But Scott did not answer. He made a beeline to the inside of the tower (the mountain ash barrier had vanished long ago), where he knew the entrance to the Dreamlands was.

“Scott, talk to me,” the Sheriff was getting agitated, but the alpha would not listen. He was too busy looking for the trapdoor. Jackson had mentioned a ring. _Where was it?_

Scott sensed too many things at once. He could smell the Sheriff, who was tired. He could smell Chris’ blood, and the ozone tinge of the Hound’s charred non-flesh. He could smell his mum in distress. He could even smell himself and Jackson. And he could smell Stiles, and Coach, and Isaac.

“ _Scott_!” the Sheriff roared, and Scott fell to his knees, punching at the ground.

“Something is wrong,” he managed to mumble. “Very wrong. And it’s all my fault…”

***

As he walked through the arch way, Isaac noticed that his brother weighed less, which he guessed happened at the same time that his wolf-self nudged his bottom only to disappear and become his inner wolf. Isaac did not want to think too much about the how of it happening, because he was simply happy to have enough strength to carry his brother all the way up the stairs.

“Wait!” Coach shouted, and Isaac turned around with a murderous stare, all glowing eyes and fangs. “Bring it down a notch, Lahey,” Bobby walked past the werewolf to the place where they had left their torches and picked one up. “Let us lead the way.”

Isaac nodded as Stiles and Coach grabbed two torches and raced up the spiral. Stiles was in such a hurry that he took over and dashed up, even if he was soon huffing and puffing, and cursing because he was still injured and hurt himself. Coach at least walked next to Isaac, illuminating the steps so the werewolf knew where he was treading.

“You remember when you rolled all the way down the hill on my bike?” Cam said suddenly.

“It wasn’t your bike. Mum gave it to me,” Isaac had to correct his brother, although he knew where the story was going.

“You went all the way on that yellow speed demon and hit Mr Johnson’s car.”

“I didn’t hit the car,” Isaac suppressed a smile. “The bike hit the car. I flew over it and landed in the bushes and the mailbox.”

“That was so funny,” Cam chuckled.

“What’s the point of this? Because if you’re good enough to joke, you’re good enough to walk,” Isaac warned without really meaning it.

“You remember what happened after I pulled you out of the bush?” Cam was now serious, and so was Isaac.

“Yeah. I was bleeding.”

“And I carried you back home.”

“You did.”

“And Dad slapped me across the face for letting you get hurt while Mum was bandaging you.”

Isaac did not know that, and it was the kind of thing he did not want to know either. He said nothing and let his brother continue, but Cam just remained silent for a few seconds before saying something else.

“I am sorry I could not always be there for you,” he added with a smile, but Isaac refused to look down.

“Cam, shut the _fuck_ up, okay?” he said staring intently at the steps in front of him. “Don’t you start with that shit, and just wait for Scott. I told you already…” he muttered mostly to himself through his clenched jaw as one more tear escaped from his eye.

Cam let out a chuckle that turned soon into a fit of cough. Isaac shifted his hand so it was in contact with his brother’s skin and began to drain his pain until his brother calmed down and he felt wheezy.

“That won’t help if you collapse,” Peter said from behind, and Isaac had flashing thoughts of shoving his claws into Derek’s uncle’s guts. “Focus on getting up to the top,” the older werewolf added after sensing Isaac’s radiating rage.

Cam seemed to relax after his brother took some of his pain away, but Isaac knew better than to let him fall asleep or unconscious.

“Camden, wake up.”

“Zac…”

“Stiles!” Isaac yelled, his voice betraying his panic. His shout echoed up and up in the dark spiralling shaft.

“We’ll be there in a tick, buddy,” his friend’s voice came from up above.

“Cam! Listen, hey, tell me. How did you find out about Coach’s birthday?”

“That was _not_ funny at all,” Bobby said from a few steps ahead. “Thank you, Lahey. I guess I should send you the bill for all those eggs I had to clean off the front of my house.”

“Oh… that’s a good one,” Camden remembered. “I was looking for somewhere to make out with this girl, and I walked us into Dad’s office, but…”

Cam’s head bobbed and Isaac had to shake him. The werewolf tried to ignore the wet noise from the blood that had accumulated between him and his brother.

“Stay with me, Cam. So, this girl? What happened?”

Isaac’s brother groaned and blinked hard before continuing.

“Well… She did not want to do anything in _Coach Lahey’s_ desk, right? So she left me there.”

“This girl wasn’t Laura Hale by chance?” Peter asked from behind.

“Maybe?” despite the blood and the bruising, Camden managed to look smug, and Isaac nearly tripped over the steps. “Anyways, while I was there I saw Coach Finstock’s file, and that information was too good not to use.”

“You little punk,” Bobby moaned as he flashed his torch at the two Lahey brothers. Both of them gave him identical grins.

Coach went on a long rant about all the attacks his house received ever since that day, and how he was going to make the two brothers run suicides until they vomited.

“You know I’m just happy to have been able to see you again, right?” Camden whispered as Coach went on with his threats.

“I’m not giving up,” Isaac insisted.

“I know,” Cam was unsettlingly calm. “But just needed you to know. Even if this biting does not work. I love you, Zac.”

Isaac refused to answer.

“The trapdoor!” Stiles yelled. “I can see it!”

***

Scott found himself staring at the iron ring that was meant to open the door into the Dreamlands, but the Sheriff had already explained that, as far as he could tell, it was anchored to the ground. Stilinski was saying something or other, but Scott was not listening. He was focusing all of his attention to the ring, waiting for the slightest hint that it was about to open, revealing the entrance to the dream world. At one point he roared as he smashed his fists into the hard earth.

It was proving very difficult not to go through all sorts of macabre scenarios of things that could possibly have gone wrong. At least with Allison he had had a chance to _be_ with her and say goodbye. The last thing he had said to Isaac was that he was an idiot. God damn it, but Isaac was _his_ idiot! Of all the relationships Scott had ever had, Isaac had been the longest, something that he had never in his wildest dreams had ever expected. It had been a full, whole, year of mutual teasing, banter and laughs; a year full of love and amazing crazy sex; a year full of lazy afternoons with Isaac resting his head on his lap and him mindlessly messing with his boyfriend’s curls; a year of dinner dates, kitchen flops, and the occasional culinary masterpiece. But there were still many things he wanted to do. A visit to Isaac’s village in France and a holiday together to start with. He wanted more Christmases, and more birthdays, and more Thanksgivings with Isaac, because even after only a year Scott could not imagine any of them without his blond smartarse of a boyfriend. Allison, Kira, and Malia had been his first love, his high-school crush, and his comfort when everything had seemed dark, but Isaac had been so unexpected and so surprisingly enthralling… So fuckingly and amazingly _different_.

The Sheriff turned around when he heard the noise of two approaching cars parking nearby. Scott was still squatting while biting his lip nervously by the iron ring, but he looked up to see the rest of his pack race towards them. Lydia, who looked paler than usual, was the first one to arrive to the tower, reaching for the Sheriff’s hug, but the rest were not far behind.

“Scott—” Derek began, but the alpha cut him short.

“Do not say they’ll be fine,” Scott was staring back at the ring. His voice was harsh, but not as much as Scott intended. “Do not dare jinx it.”

Ethan approached Scott more carefully and without saying anything. The alpha seemed to tolerate his presence, and even let him pat his knee. As the twin stood up Lydia began to explain what had happened to the Sheriff, but Scott was not remotely interested. He had been there, and he was far more worried about the ring that was nailed to the ground in front of him. He dared a quick glance over the western horizon, only to see the Wolf Star dying slowly as the sunlight filled the sky.

Then the door opened.

The pack froze for a second, but they then saw Stiles popping his head up like a groundhog.

“Stiles!” Lydia and the Sheriff exclaimed at once.

Stiles looked around and saw his father and his girlfriend, but he also saw Scott, and his own smile turned upside down. Stiles rushed out and Scott stood up. The werewolf put a doubting hand on his best friend’s shoulder and gave him his most pleading eyes, but Stiles only had time to give him a bittersweet smile and mutter ‘he’s okay, but’ before the Sheriff and Lydia pulled him into a hug.

“McCall!” Coach was the next person to pop out. “McCall you better be there because—oh good.”

“Coach? What’s wrong?” Stiles had told him that he was okay, but there was a ‘but’. And Lydia had screamed. “Isaac?!” he shouted into the spiral staircase.

“Listen,” Bobby Finstock tried to keep the werewolf from barging down the stairs. “Isaac is fine, but he needs your help—”

“Then move out of the way!” Scott literally pushed him to the side until he was by the edge of the trap door. “ _Isaac!_ ”

“Babe!” came Isaac’s reply. Soon the bond werewolf’s head was visible, and Scott fell to his knees trying to pull him out from that hell-shaft. But it soon became apparent that Isaac was struggling with something –with someone.

“Who’s—” Scott began to ask once Isaac was completely out and laid the man he had been carrying on the ground.

“No, Scott, please,” Isaac gripped Scott’s wrist. He was needy and desperate, and Scott could tell not only by his chemosignals (which screamed anxiety and fear), but also in the way he was holding to him, and the way his ocean-blue eyes were begging. Scott felt his heart break, and was ready to do anything at that moment. Anything at all.

“Oh, so this is the boyfriend?” the man, who was pale as a sheet and obviously bleeding excessively through a not fully-healed wound on his side, joked weakly in what was clearly not the best moment. Just like Isaac tended to do.

“Bite him,” Isaac begged without hesitation. “Please, he needs your help,” the beta began to hyperventilate as he stammered. “Babe, please bite him. He’s my brother. He’s injured. We need you to bite him. He’s- He’s- he’s _not_ going to make it. The cultist—the nurse stabbed him, and I don’t know what I can do, but you can, and…”

Isaac went on about genes and knowing that he could kill him, and that he and his brother had talked about it, but Scott was not listening. He was lost in Isaac’s eyes. Scott could feel his boyfriend’s pain and fear, and he could sense how his inner wolf was also pleading, whimpering, and nuzzling and licking his inner alpha. Scott took a long look at Camden, Isaac’s long-lost brother, and his only family left. The injured man, despite his grave state, seemed to be measuring him out, as if evaluating who Scott was and what he had done to his brother.

Scott slowly took one of Cam’s arms and brought it up to his mouth. Isaac was still going on, begging his boyfriend to do it as he held his brother’s other hand to take away his pain. Scott felt Cam’s pulse faltering and slowing, and the alpha gave his boyfriend’s brother one last questioning look. Camden looked at Isaac for a split of a second before looking back at Scott and giving him the slightest of nods.

The alpha sunk his fangs into Cam’s arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Now we have a reunited Lahey family with a side of werewolf!Cam, which had been my main objective since ch. 25 of "Beacons and Groves", all those moons ago.
> 
> Also, in case anyone is interested, I have an idea for a last book in this Lovecraftian Teen Wolf series, although first will come an AU Isaac fic!


	33. Turning the page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his brother went limp in his hands Isaac panicked, terrified at the thought that they had been too late, but Scott managed to convince him that they could hear his heart still. Coach Finstock at that point insisted that they needed to rush him to the hospital
> 
> OR: in the aftermath of the nemeton and Dreamland battles, Cam is bitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I will never thank i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name *enough* for his amazing beta skills, far, far superior to my own.

It all happened in a blur.

As Scott bit down, Cam groaned in pain, but he almost immediately passed out. When his brother went limp in his hands Isaac panicked, terrified at the thought that they had been too late, but Scott managed to convince him that they could hear his heart still. Coach Finstock at that point insisted that they needed to rush him to the hospital, and the Sheriff was quick to bring his car up to drive Scott and the Lahey brothers to the ER. Once there, Camden was rushed in, leaving a bereaved and stricken Isaac in his boyfriend’s arms.

For what seemed hours, Scott and Isaac could hear with their supernatural ears how the doctors said that he was badly injured, but that he would pull through. Behind the doors of the OR, Camden was stitched and patched up, and had a bag of blood pumped into him. At one point Melissa, who had been in the ICU with Chris, came down to see her two kids. Isaac until then had no idea that Chris had been badly injured, and when Mrs McCall told him, the beta did not take it well. He stormed out of the Hospital and ran out to the nearest trees, which he punched repeatedly as he vented his frustration on them.

A couple of minutes later Scott came to find him.

“Isaac…” he said softly.

But Isaac did not listen, he just punched the tree again, splinting the wood and bloodying his knuckles, and Scott had to use all of his alpha strength to stop him. Isaac tried to wriggle out of his boyfriend’s grip, but Scott eventually managed with soft words and all his alpha emotional comfort to calm him until both were sitting on the dirty floor, saying nothing, simply being there for each other.

When Dr Geyer seemed happy that he was stable, Cam was sent to a room upstirs. A while later, a red-eyed Melissa came looking for them, and with a raspy voice said that Dr Geyer had told her that Cam was stable, and that he had been moved to a room on the third floor to rest. They rushed up and Isaac’s heart sunk when he saw his brother in the hospital bed. He sat on the chair next to his brother’s bed and did not move until Camden showed the first signs of supernatural healing. During those long hours, Scott did not leave Isaac’s side.

Later that day, the different pack members slowly made their way to the hospital to visit and comfort the Argent-Lahey-McCall family, although Chris was critical and could not receive visits yet. After Camden was taken away, Derek had told everyone to go back to their respective homes to have some rest, and to wait a bit before asking Scott about Isaac and his brother. It was long after three o’clock that Stiles got confirmation from Scott that they were okay to visit, and soon everyone was informed.

The pack arrived in pairs, and they spent most of their time either with Scott and Melissa in the waiting room outside or else taking turns to walk into Camden’s room to be with Isaac. Nobody spoke much, and nobody wanted to say a lot about what had happened during the previous evening. They all had seen it, and nobody was ready to go through it again. They were just happy to see that they were, somehow, back together.

“Why don’t you go home, Scott?” Derek asked while Mason and Liam were with Isaac.

“Yes. You look like shit,” Malia clarified. She and her cousin were about to leave the hospital, as visiting hours were almost over.

“I can’t leave my mom and Isaac here?”

“I’m sure your mom will appreciate not spending the night either here or home alone,” Derek reasoned. “Nobody is allowed to visit Chris until the morning. Why don’t you take her home?”

“Derek’s right. And I know that we at least have a chance to convince you to go home. I’m not even going to bother with Isaac,” Malia added. “Because he’s a stubborn little shit.”

Scott looked at the closed door and focused his hearing. He could hear Liam and Mason talking softly to Isaac about the latest _D &D _campaign that Mason was planning to run, and how they wanted to introduce lacrosse into it somehow. Scott could sense through his shared bond that his boyfriend was glad for the distraction and happy that his pack was there with him ( _for_ him), even if he was still sitting by Cam’s side, saying nothing, and staring at his shoes.

“I’ll talk to my mom,” Scott promised vaguely. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“If you must, but I’m working,” Malia said.

“I’ll be around if you need me,” Derek promised, and with that and two comforting hugs, the two Hales left.

“They’re right, you know?” Lydia said from her chair in the waiting room. By her side, Stiles was sleeping in an awkward contorted position in the uncomfortable plastic seats. “The best thing you could do for your mom is to take her home and be with her.”

“What happened to the Sleepers?” the alpha changed topic. “Has anyone spoken to Deaton?”

“He went home,” Lydia explained. “The Sleepers went with him, but I think that they will be going back to their time. I think they may want to see you first, though.”

That seemed fair, Scott thought as he sat down next to Lydia. As he did so, the seat rocked enough to startle Stiles awake.

“I was not sure I would be able to sleep again,” Stiles said through a pasty mouth.

“You slept for seven solid hours when we got home this morning,” Lydia pointed out.

Stiles nodded. “Yes, but I still was not sure.”

“No dreams?” Scott asked.

“I think that since we broke through the wall of sleep we can actually decide if we want a normal resting sleep or a dreamy adventure.”

Stiles went on for a few more minutes about the slight differences he had noticed between his pre-dreamwalking dreams and his most recent experience, but Scott and Lydia were saved by Mason and Liam coming out of the room. Scott was about to stand up when a hand held him down.

“I thought you were going home?”

Scott looked up and saw it was Jackson.

“What?”

“We saw Derek and Malia leaving,” Ethan explained. He and Jackson had gone to grab something to eat. “They told us.”

“I can stay with him,” Liam volunteered.

“Same,” Jackson chipped in. “You can go home with your mom.”

Scott wanted to argue, but one look around at his friends’ pleading eyes was enough to convince him. The alpha surrendered to peer pressure and nodded.

“I’ll go and find your mom,” Lydia patted Scott’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay, give me a second,” Scott said before walking into the room.

“Hey, babe,” he smiled softly at his boyfriend when he popped his head through the door. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s okay. He’s healing, but he’s still out,” Isaac stood up and gave Scott a needy hug and a kiss. “How’s Chris?”

“We’re not allowed to see him yet. But he’s stable.”

Isaac lingered in Scott’s embrace for a couple of seconds. He _hated_ hospitals with all his gut. He could tolerate being in them himself, but not when it was people he cared for. People he loved. Scott sensed it and gave him another Scott McCall patented cuddle as he nuzzled his nose into Isaac’s neck and let his inner alpha do the same with Isaac’s wolf. That seemed to put his boyfriend at ease.

“I need to go home with mom,” Scott finally admitted. “We’ll grab some dinner—"

“I’m not going any—”

“I know. I know. We all know,” Scott smiled. “But Liam and Jackson said they’d stay here with you if you want?”

Isaac stood there thinking for a second, with his hands around Scott’s waist while his boyfriend kept his hands on Isaac’s shoulders.

“You better go to the Chinese place she likes,” Isaac finally said. “The one in the corner. Get her—

“Sweet and sour chicken, I know. She’s _also_ my mom,” Scott grinned, and Isaac gave him a kiss. “You sure you don’t prefer if I stay?”

“Sure. Go with mum,” Isaac nodded. “Jackson can stay if he wants. He knew Cam too…”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

Scott was about to turn and leave when Isaac held his hand and stopped him.

“Thanks,” Isaac mumbled.

“Thanks for what?”

“For saving Cam. For saving me. For everything, really. As usual… I don’t tell you often enough that I’m incredibly lucky to have you, and—”

“I’m the one who has to thank you,” Scott interrupted, beaming a megawatt smile that always made Isaac’s chest glow with a warm feeling.

“But—"

Scott did not let him finish. He pulled him for a soft, long kiss as he cupped his boyfriend’s face. Isaac was quick to deepen it as he pulled Scott closer to him, keeping one hand on Scott’s back, but bringing the other one to Scott’s shoulder and neck.

There was a very deliberate knock on the door, and Isaac and Scott pulled apart just in time for Jackson to walk in the room, followed by Melissa. By the look on his face, Jackson knew precisely what had been happening.

“Are you sure you want to stay, sweetheart?” Melissa asked Isaac. She looked exhausted and drained. Isaac had never seen her like that – and it was quite scary.

“Yes, sure. Jacks is going to keep me company.”

“I am. I even got him a present,” Jackson added as he put up a paper bag from the comic bookstore and he mouthed ‘ _Hulkling_ ’. Isaac arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

“Are you two going to be okay?” Scott insisted.

“We’ll be fine, babe,” Isaac confirmed. He gave him and Melissa one last kiss and the McCalls left the room.

Isaac sat by his brother and Jackson on the chair opposite, both in silence, looking at Camden under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room.

“Do you think he’ll remember me?” Jackson asked after a while.

“I’d imagine so. Why?”

“Because last time I saw him I pushed him into the pool and he said I’d better watch out.”

“Weren’t we, like, _twelve_?”

“There’s such a thing as grudges…”

***

The morning after, Cam was allowed to leave. He was still confused as to where he was, but his injuries were mostly gone. Dr Geyer, knowing that other doctors might ask too many questions, signed his papers, and Scott and Isaac decided it was better for him to go home with them so he could recover properly.

Two days later, Chris was brought out of the ICU to a normal room, where he could receive visits. Melissa was with him from the very beginning, and while Scott stayed home with Cam, Isaac went to visit. Chris was glad that Isaac was all good and back, and was very happy knowing that he had got his brother out safe. He also told him that they would have to have a chat with one of their in-the-know lawyers to make sure Cam had some guise of legal paperwork. Isaac thanked him but omitted to mention the bite, at least until he was fully recovered. But what Chris seemed more insistent on was that he needed to see Scott alone with some urgency. Isaac did not ask why, but he told his boyfriend to come around that afternoon while he went with Cam to buy some real-world clothes, a phone, and such.

Scott was used to being in the hospital, although it had been a long time since he had been there as a patient. Boons of being a werewolf, he acknowledged. Scott went there mostly to visit his mother (although Isaac seemed to score far more brownie points because he bribed her by bringing her dinner), although sometimes he had also been fighting there. A surprising number of times he had to go to visit patients, and those had included Stiles, the Sheriff, Lydia, Braeden, his dad, Malia and Isaac. Hell, Isaac had been there _twice_.

That afternoon his mother was off, but she was obviously there, sitting by Chris. Scott could see that the hunter was still covered in dressings and casts, and he also had an IV drip and an oxygen mask. He had never seen him that drained, and that only added to his never-ending guilt; after all, Chris would not be in that state if he had stopped the Hound earlier. Melissa smiled when her son walked in and stood up to give him a kiss.

“Is he okay, mom?” Scott asked in a low voice.

“He’s getting there. He’s a tough cookie that one,” she smiled with hope.

Melissa turned around to look at her fiancé, who suddenly realised that Scott had arrived and he pulled the mask off his face.

“I’ll let you two to it,” she added before exiting the room and closing it shut behind her.

“How are you doing?” Scott asked gingerly. He did not know why Chris had been so insisting, but the werewolf was ready for bad news of some description.

“I’ll survive, thankfully,” Chris’ voice was raspy and hoarse. He pointed at the chair by his side and Scott took a seat. “I’ll survive and it will be thanks to you and your pack.”

Scott gave the hunter a small smile. Instinctively, he reached for Chris’ hand and he immediately saw his own veins running black with the pain he was taking from Argent.

“Well, that’s what we do, right?” Scott smiled, but Chris did not return it. He just looked straight into Scott’s eye.

“I need to apologise to you, Scott,” he kept his stare, but it was not the hard and harsh one that he had used so often. This time it was a vulnerable and tired look unlike anything Scott had seen.

“Apologise?” Scott scoffed, trying to lighten the mood. “Why? There’s no need, Chris.”

“And that is the problem, Scott. There is a need.”

“What do you need to apologise for? I’m the one who could not save you from the Hound up on that hill.”

Chris sighed.

“Scott, I have to apologise because you were just sixteen and I bullied and harassed you. I pulled a gun on you for Christ’s sake,” as Chris numbered his trespasses, Scott saw that he was getting angrier. Angrier at himself. But he was also tired, as if this had been something nagging his insides for a long time. “You were just a kid, thrown into the supernatural without a warning, and I could only see you as… as a rabid dog. As a monster trying to date my daughter.”

Scott let go of Chris’ hand and he reclined back against the chair. Scott could never forget his first encounter with Chris Argent, or how he had insisted on keeping him and Allison apart. But he had pushed all those things to the back of his memory. Too much crap had happened after that. Chris had been played and betrayed by his own father, who had corrupted the code he had so firmly believed in. He had lost his wife, his sister, and his daughter within a few months. And yet, Chris had proven himself, more than once, to be willing to help Scott and his pack, despite what he had been brought up to believe. Scott should be feeling resentful, but he was not one to hold grudges.

“You forgive too much, Scott,” Chris continued, reading Scott’s thoughts on his face. “Often you do it without being asked to. I am going to marry your mother, and you are the one person that has kept my adopted son alive.” Scott was about to interrupt, but Chris would not let him. “I am sure that you’ve had many chances to object but still you’ve never had. And that? That… I don’t know if I would’ve been able to do that. But hey, having been at death’s door does put shit in perspective, you know?”

“Mr Argent…” Scott suddenly found himself regressing to his sixteen-year-old self. He felt like that night when Chris had invited him for dinner. Scott knew something important was about to happen, but he wished he could run away.

“Please, I am just asking you to accept my apology. I should have known better and- and… I cannot ask for your forgiveness. I just want you to know, before we become one family, that I am sorry.”

Chris had to put his mask on again, as he was running out of breath, and had to cough to keep his lungs breathing. Scott was about to help, but Chris waved him away.

So the werewolf remained silent. As Chris’ breathing normalised, Scott rested his chin in his hands while resting his arms on his knees. Scott knew that he brushed things off, that there was no need to apologise. But now was the first time where he could see that apologising (apologising to _him_ ) really meant something for someone.

His thoughts wandered to his mother, who had at the very beginning had a few not-friendly encounters with the Argents. Did she know about what Chris had done? If he had not confessed earlier, most definitely he must have told her in the last few hours. And his mother loved him – loved him enough to be willing at least to ignore how he had mistreated her son. Scott could definitely move on.

“You don’t have to worry, Mr Argent,” Scott said after a few seconds. “I am thankful for your apology. But there is nothing left to forgive.”

***

Scott and Lydia went to Deaton’s house to see the time travellers one last time before they left. Lydia had never been there, but she was very pleased to see that he lived in a neat town house with an immaculate front lawn and flower beds at either side of the path that led to the front porch. The druid opened the door and welcomed them in.

“We’re almost ready. Mason and Liam are already here.”

“Liam?” Scott looked at Deaton, sensing that he knew something he did not. It made sense that Mason had come, but Liam? “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s saying his goodbyes as well,” the vet explained with a smile.

“Don’t elaborate, Dr Deaton,” Lydia intervened. “Even if he had been paying attention he wouldn’t have noticed.” She patted Scott’s chest before walking into the house.

Scott looked with a confused expression at his mentor, but the emissary just shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll follow her advice.”

In the living room were the four remaining Sleepers, Heraklios, Anthemios, Hypathia, and Cleomena, who was sat next to Liam. Quite close, in fact, so their knees were touching. Mason was standing by one of the couches.

“ _Adsumus_ ,” Deaton announced, and everyone in the room stood up.

Heraklios took a step forward until he was in front of Scott. Scott might have been a werewolf, but Heraklios had the broken-nose and stupidly-wide shoulder combination that made him quite imposing.

“Alpha McCall,” Deaton translated as Heraklios spoke. “The gods only know why our paths had to cross. We paid a very high price for our folly and we are sorry we brought the cursed creature to your people.”

The time traveller’s tone had been extremely solemn, and Scott felt that this was some sort of complex ritual or political goodbye and that he had to reply in kind. Which, of course meant that he blanked for a second.

“I… _We_ are very sorry for the loss of your friends. We are sorry we could not do any more… We failed them.”

“You did not fail my friends, nor did you fail your pack,” Deaton translated as Heraklios nodded solemnly. “You and yours confronted the fury that came to punish us for our insolent wish to know, and we are forever in your debt.”

After Deaton translated this, Heraklios held Scott’s forearms in his hands and pulled the werewolf into an embrace. Scott looked at Lydia with a flash of panic, but she just mouthed to copy what the Greek man was doing.

“ _Etiam donum vobis offerimus quod druis vester feret_.”

Scott looked at Deaton for a translation, but the druid turned around to pull something out of a small leather bag.

“They have a present for us,” Lydia whispered.

“Scott,” Deaton said formally. “The Sleepers want to offer you this small present.”

Deaton handed the bag to Scott, who opened it up and pulled a sheet of golden bronze in the shape of a wolf, where they had neatly carved a few tight lines of text.

_HAEC·TESSERA·HOSPITALIS_

_DORMIENTIVM·EPHES.RVM_

_DATA·SCOTTO·B·M_

_DVCE·ALPHA·LYCANTH.RVM_

_OB·AVXILIVM·SPONTE·DATVM_

_GRATVS·ESTO·SEMPER·HOSPES_

_DOMIS·OMNIVM·AMICORVM_

“What is this?” he asked Lydia and Deaton as he kept his eyes on the object.

“This is a token of friendship,” Deaton explained. “This is an open invitation to be forever an honoured guest in their homes, and they thank you for your help.”

“But… but I’ve got nothing to give back to them!” Scott was suddenly flustered and he franticly patted his pocket as if by chance he was carrying a meaningful object to give as a present. “I don’t know—Lydia, have you got anything?”

“Relax, Scott,” Deaton reassured him.

Scott looked at Deaton and then at the four Sleepers, who were waiting for Scott to say something. The alpha decided that the best thing would be to be himself. He beamed a wide smile at them before talking.

“I am very thankful for this, and I wish I could return a present! But, please tell them that we’ll be here if they need us.” Then to the side, he stage whispered, “but we are not going to be time travelling to visit them, are we?”

When Mason heard this, his face illuminated, as if all his wishes had been granted and his prayers answered.

“No we won’t,” Lydia killed that very thought right in the bud, silencing Mason with a stare. “But it is the kind of thing you are expected to say.”

“Just thank them,” Scott asked Deaton and he smiled at the time travellers.

Deaton translated a few things, and then Anthemios put his hand up. He looked at Lydia and Deaton and gave them a book.

“Is that…?” Liam half-asked.

“Yes, that’s the tome they used for the ritual,” Mason explained as words were exchanged between Deaton and the time travellers.

“They say they should not have it, and that it might be safer here,” Lydia translated, although her tone was slightly resentful, and Scott would bet that she was not happy having such a valuable arcane tome around.

“I’ll take care of it,” Deaton assured Scott.

With that, the Sleepers bid their farewells to Deaton and the members of the pack that had come to see them. Cleomena might have lingered a tad longer around Liam, casually resting her hand on his shoulder, and playing with her hair as she did so. Scott looked at this with fascination, and Lydia could see on his face the cogs and the wheels turning as he reached the inevitable conclusion.

Deaton then took the time travellers to a room, where there were four cots. He gave them four glasses with water and a pill, and closed the door behind them

“What do we do now? Can’t we watch?” Mason said as he hovered in front of the closed door.

“Mason….” It was Lydia again who had to rein in the young man’s curiosity.

“Are you alright, Liam?” Scott asked, sensing clearly that his beta was either sad or confused, or probably both.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine… Shall we go then?” he walked towards the door without looking back.

“Is everything going to be okay with them? And with us?” Scott asked Deaton, still holding the bronze plaque in his hand.

“For now, I think it is,” the vet confirmed, and Scott felt an enormous weight disappearing off his shoulders. “The future, as we know, is a different story…”

***

“Ready?”

“No…”

“Come on, Cam. Don’t be a wuss.”

Camden had been a werewolf for just under a week, and during that time he had been living with Scott and Isaac in their apartment. His brother would not let him go anywhere else – not that he complained, though, because he loved every single moment he had back with him. But now the pair had decided to give him a crash course on werewolfing before his first full moon.

“I’m not being a wuss, Zac. I’ve just seen your boyfriend (who’s now apparently my alpha boss, but whatever), half-turn into a werewolf, glow his eyes at me, pull his claws out, and then go back to normal. And now he’s just there… _smiling_.”

“I can hear you,” Scott chuckled. “I’m right here.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on what you can hear. Or what _I_ can hear. And smell! Zac, I know very well what you two have been up to all over this apartment.”

Isaac and Scott looked at each other. The latter slightly embarrassed, but the former grinning, solely to piss his brother off.

“You need to learn how to trigger your shift and how to control it,” Scott continued.

“Shouldn’t we be doing this outdoors? In the preserve? What if I wreck your living room?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Scott grinned with mischief as his eyes glowed red. “You won’t get a chance.”

Camden looked at his brother and his boyfriend, who was now also his own alpha. They had pushed aside all the furniture in their living room so they could have some space. Scott was standing in front of him, while Isaac stood blocking the door.

“What about the neighbours?”

“In the words of a super cool guy from school, ‘dude, this is Beacon Hills’,” Scott smirked.

“That may mean something for you, but from where I am, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Just wolf out, Cam!”

Cam flipped his brother off before closing his eyes. Camden tried to look for the inner wolf his brother had told him about. He could hear Scott and Isaac telling him to focus as he searched for that wolf. It was weird, because Cam could sense it, like a restless dog. He could almost hear him growling, but he could not yet _see_ any wolf-like shape. He tried harder, but the inner wolf was elusive and undefined, and he felt he was chasing ghosts, which was very frustrating. Camden frowned as he tried to think about this wolf.

 _The wolf is not something else, it is a part of you_ , Isaac had told him. But how was he meant to find his wolf self? It was so infuriating!

And then it happened.

Cam opened his eyes. They felt different. They must have been different, because Isaac and Scott were smiling at him. But he was still angry. Were they mocking him because he could not master the werewolf shift? He hardly noticed his fangs growing, or his nails elongating into claws. But he noticed how their faces changed when he growled.

“Okay, Camden, listen to me,” Scott was talking, but he sounded very distant. Whatever Scott was doing, he needed to move, because Cam was not in the mood to stay around. He needed to get out of there and _run_.

“Cam,” now it was Isaac talking to him. He had his hands up, trying to calm him down. But he did not need calming. He felt fine. More than fine. He felt different. He felt ready.

Cam was about to jump forward and push through those two boys in front, when Scott took a step forward and flashed his red eyes at him.

“Cam, wait,” Scott said. His voice echoed in his head.

Cam found that very confusing. Something deep inside him told him to be afraid of Scott: he could see the raw pure power that radiated off his brother’s boyfriend. But there was something else, something comforting and reassuring. The might and the power were just one face of Scott – of his alpha. Scott was also calming him down, and making him… stronger?

Scott took one more step and put a firm hand on him. Cam became suddenly aware of Scott’s wolf: a huge grey timberwolf that was suddenly in between them, staring him down, expecting him to obey, but not forcing him (although he was very aware that Scott would if necessary). As he sensed Scott’s wolf, he noticed that there was a tugging link between them, a force that pulled them together. Soon Cam realised that there were more such tethers, one glowing distinctively brighter, going towards his right, where his brother was standing.

Isaac was smiling at him. Cam could see his golden eyes glowing, and he could also distinguish his brother’s wolf. Where Scott’s was grey and commanding, Isaac’s was reddish brown with cream bands around his neck and his nuzzle. Isaac’s wolf stepped forward and _nudged_ him, which was the weirdest sensation Cam had ever felt. Right then he finally saw it: he saw his own inner wolf, like a fierce oversized husky, looking at him, judging his soul; recognising that they were one and the same.

Cam shook his head and these visions of wolves and links vanished. His claws and fangs were gone. Scott and Isaac were smiling at him, and their eyes were still glowing.

“You did it!” Scott beamed and patted him on the shoulder.

“That was… amazing?”

The two brothers high-fived and, to Scott’s great amusement, they did the _same_ dorky victory dance.

“Well, that’s just step one,” Scott told him.

“Of course it is…”

“There are many other things you need to learn. There’s pack structures and alphas, betas, and omegas,” Scott began to list. “You roughly know that, but in our pack we’ve got more.”

“Yeah, the pack,” Cam had briefly met all of the members of the McCall pack. He had met Jackson before, when he and Isaac were little, and he also knew Derek from school and because he once tried to date his older sister. “Zac has been telling me while you were away.”

Cam pointed at his brother, and Isaac winked.

“Right,” Scott continued. “You know about enhanced senses, but you need to know about enhanced emotions. Your wolf—”

“My inner wolf? The wolf-spirit you two you keep talking about?”

“The one you’ve just met now,” Isaac smiled.

“These enhanced emotions can trigger your shift, and this is where all the stories about killer werewolves kick in,” Scott warned seriously. “That’s why you need to find an anchor.”

“What anchor?”

“Something or someone who reminds you that you are not just your wolf; that you are not a monster. You are a werewolf, and you are a person,” Scott gave him a smile, and if Cam had had any doubts about why his brother had fallen for him, he was certain now. “Without an anchor you can lose control, and you wouldn’t like that.”

“What are your anchors?” Cam wanted to know.

“Mine? Well… I had to become my own anchor,” Scott declared. “But Derek focuses on his anger. Or he used to. Liam focuses on a song or something…”

“Scott’s my anchor…” the same Isaac that was happy to say the raunchiest comments to make anyone around him blush could only admit to this in front of his brother with a shy smile.

Cam saw Scott beaming at his brother.

“I think I know who my anchor could be.”

***

“How’s your bro doing?” Stiles asked. He was walking with Isaac and Liam along the street, going to the new ice-cream place that had opened in town.

“He’s doing alright,” Isaac admitted, as he looked through his phone. “He is still overwhelmed by the sheer stench of everything, but he’s getting there. All his wounds healed.” He smiled at that and put his phone in his pocket. “We’re still having that get-together, meet-the-pack thingy, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll bring name tags,” Stiles replied. “Has he guessed yet what random people have had for lunch?”

“You’ve had—” Liam began to say, but Stiles cut him short.

“ _No._ I had enough of that from Scott when he first turned.”

Stiles walked ahead and opened the shop door for his friends.

“Ham and coleslaw sandwich,” Isaac muttered as he walked in, making Stiles growl.

Once inside, the shop was nice enough. They found a booth in the far corner and sat down; Liam and Isaac on the one side and Stiles opposite. When their ice-creams came in, they saw that Stiles’ was a mountain of whipped cream and choc-chip cookies that hid a proper ice-cream core, Isaac’ had gone for a tangy peach melba sundae while Liam had gone for an unexpected chocolate stout waffle sundae. The three friends tucked, Stiles more greedily than the two werewolves, which he paid for with an almost instant brain freeze.

“Are we going to talk about our dreamy clusterfuck?” Isaac said as he casually picked up a piece of peach with his long spoon. Liam froze with his spoon half-way to his mouth. Stiles, less graciously, dropped his spoon and sent ice-cream all over his shirt.

“ _Dude!_ ”

“Not to quote that guy in _Jurassic Park_ back at you,” Isaac looked at his spoon, and then ate the peach and added with a full mouth: “ _nobody cares_.”

“You have an attitude problem…” Stiles tried to clean the cream off as he spoke.

“I haven’t seen you in my dreams anymore,” Liam admitted as he pushed around his sundae with his spoon with nonchalance, but he could not fool Isaac. Liam was disappointed.

“I think we can choose now if we want to go to the Dreamlands or not,” Isaac deduced. Stiles was forced to nod in agreement. “I think I needed some quiet calm sleeps.”

“I may have had enough weird dreams,” Stiles admitted, now discovering the stains left by the fallen cherries on his shorts.

“Oh… But it was fun, right?” Liam forced a smile. “It was cool doing all that stuff and seeing the wolves, and travelling to all those places.”

“There were those other dreams with the flying byakhees and the gugs and the zebra-riding,” Stiles listed from under the table, trying to recover the spoon he had dropped.

“They were not all that bad…” Isaac admitted with a side grin. “We could bump into Coach again. You still have questions for him, right?”

“Hang on,” Stiles’ head popped up. “Can your brother answer my questions? Because Finstock has been a pain and refuses to take my calls, and—”

“You’re calling Coach?” Isaac deadpanned. “Over the phone? You’re turning into the new Greenberg…” he finished with a grin.

“You take that back!” Stiles threatened with his spoon.

“But can we go back to my point?” Liam insisted. “Don’t you want to go back to the Dreamlands some time? Without the supernatural emergency it’s actually quite nice…”

“I brought up the issue in case any of us had had any secondary effects or any weird shit,” Isaac said as he ate another spoonful. “No night terrors? No evil fox spirits?”

“That’s not even fucking funny, Lahey,” Stiles might have been joking earlier, but he was really not pleased now.

“I _know_ ,” Isaac said, seriously this time. “That is why I am asking, seeing that Coach does not want to see us to explain. It’s all fine and well to be involved in some deep-destiny shit, but I want to make sure that we’re all fine and that I can again have a proper night’s sleep without scaring the shit out of Scott.”

The three went very silent, because the three of them had been worried about the same thing. It had only been a week since they had accepted that they had become dreamwalkers and that they had opened the Black Gates. It seemed too soon to jump to conclusions, but they still had hope.

“I- I haven’t had any issues,” Liam was the first to speak. “I’ve had nights without dreams and adventures in the Dreamlands. But I _feel_ fine.”

Stiles looked at Isaac and Isaac then looked at Liam, only to confirm that he was telling the truth.

“I’ve had quiet nights,” Isaac admitted next. “But I have been trying to stay away from the Dreamlands, just in case...”

“I… I haven’t noticed anything odd,” Stiles eventually concluded. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “The things I’ve been reading haven’t helped, but I can’t say that I have sensed any changes.”

Liam, Stiles, and Isaac fell silent again. Around them, the ice-cream parlour was filled with its usual busy noises of people chatting, spoons scooping, freezers humming, and the background radio.

Isaac eventually leaned over and asked his friends. “Do we really think that the worse is over?”

Liam nodded, and Isaac felt his packmate’s inner wolf nudging him in reassurance. They both turned to look at Stiles, who was thinking very carefully before speaking with a sigh.

“I think that for now, it is _all_ over…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translation of Scott's present is: "This token of friendship of the sleepers of Ephesus, is given to well-deserving Scott, the alpha leader of the werewolves, for the help free-willingly given. You will be always be a welcome guest in the homes of all your friends". Tesserae hospitalis were a real thing in Iron Age and Roman Europe!
> 
> It's a fact that i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name and I were extremely excited about werewolf!Camden, so this is the unholy result that we need to share with the world.
> 
> Next will be one concluding chapter of gratuituos fluff and an epilogue and a little timeline, and we'll be done!


	34. New normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Zac, you’re an overprotective little shit, you know that?”  
> “Well, I learnt that from someone!”
> 
> OR: Camden settles into his new life

**_August_ **

Two days after the full moon, when Camden was calmed enough and Scott was happy with his control, Isaac took his brother to visit their old home.

“Why are we here, Zac?” Camden asked his younger brother.

“Well, I just wanted to celebrate with you that you are, on paper, alive again!”

Getting Camden Lahey re-registered as a living person still entitled to his share of the house had been terrifyingly easy. Some odd explication about problems with his military file, _KIA_ turned into _MIA_ , and some inventive lie making had done the trick. There was the far more disturbing fact that Cam’s name was still on a headstone in the cemetery, but that was _definitely_ a problem for some other day.

“I just wanted to show you what we’ve done with the place,” Isaac continued.

“We?”

“Yeah,” Isaac smiled as he opened the front door. “The whole pack came to help.”

“Why would they—Oh _hell_ ,” Cam wrinkled his nose and turned his face once he entered the house, as the fumes of fresh paint and deep and thorough cleaning attacked his sensitive werewolf nose. Isaac giggled.

“Yeah… Lydia got Stiles and Mason to do it, because none of us could deal with the chemical smell… I’m sure the first time I got my nostrils burnt.”

The two brothers walked in. Isaac went straight to open the windows and the back door to ventilate the house, but Cam slowly inspected every room in the house.

“I really wanted to come back, you know? Home, I mean,” Cam said eventually when he got to the kitchen door. “I never wanted to abandon you here. Not with him…”

Isaac walked slowly to where his brother was, because he could sense Cam’s regret growing in him. Camden was struggling to breathe and he had to lean against the wall. Isaac could tell that the guilt and the regret were made worse by the flood of memories that, even without the familiar furniture still, assailed him in that house. He had felt like that when he had walked into the house earlier that summer, but he had mastered werewolf control by then.

“Cam, listen,” Isaac tried to calm him down, which was new: it had always been his big bro doing the soothing. He put his hands on his brother’s forearms and squeezed. “Focus on my voice. I’m here, I’m with you. We’re fine. We’re back together.”

Cam got worse. Isaac knew very well that the memories they both had of that house were overpowering, but his brother had always been the strongest and bravest person he had ever met (until he met Scott, and even then it was a tough draw), and had never anticipated him taking such a bad turn. Cam slid down until he was sitting on the floor, and Isaac squatted down on his haunches by his side. His older brother was beginning to shift under the weight of the emotions: suddenly Cam was all claws and sideburns, and fangs and glowing yellow eyes. It was _definitely_ not what Isaac had planned.

“I fucking abandoned you in this house with _Dad_!” Cam’s guilt was quickly turning into anger, but Isaac held him before he elbowed the wall behind him, punched the floor, or did any other sort of damage to the house that Lydia would be furious about. “He shut you in the freezer! And I fucking ran away!”

Isaac’s heart broke seeing his hero brother like that, but he had to be strong for him. They would have time to be emotional together some other time somewhere else. Isaac glowed his own eyes and reached through his pack bond, but it was as if his brother did not want to be consoled.

“I left you here, knowing what would happen. How am I ever going to live with that? And then you bring me back from the Dreamlands and give me a new chance?” Cam listed angrily. “How am I meant to live with that? After all that happened?”

“You came back,” was Isaac’s simple answer. “You came back, and we are a family again. Together. That was all that I ever wanted. Are you happy you’re back?”

Camden had not expected that question, and that seemed to calm him down.

“I… yes. Of course, Zac. How could I not?”

Cam’s eyes went to their original green. His claws and fangs receded. Isaac beamed.

“Then that’s it.”

Isaac stood up and pulled his brother with him. Camden walked out to the back garden and took a couple of deep breaths while his brother sneaked upstairs.

“Cam, come here! I saved some of your stuff!”

Camden rubbed his eyes before walking back into the house and climbing up the stairs. Their bedrooms had been re-painted, but the old beds and wardrobes were still there. Cam saw his brother standing next to two boxes with “Camden” written in black marker. There were not that many things, because their father’s cleaning spree had been brutal, but there had been things that Isaac had kept in his room, things left in the attic, and things that the pack unearthed while cleaning the house.

In the box there were framed pictures of the two of them, of Cam going on a school trip, and of him with their mother. There were a few toys, a Walkman with a mixed tape inside. There were a few shirts that did not fit him anymore, but his old Beacon Hills High varsity jacket was there. That one still fitted.

Both brothers sat in silence as they went through the retrieved treasures from Cam’s lost life. It was sad that Cam’s childhood could fit in a cardboard box, but had it not been for Melissa and Scott, Isaac’s memories might have not even occupied that much.

“We were happy here once?” Isaac asked with hope.

“We were, Zac,” Cam put the Action Man he had been holding back in the box. “When you were little, and Mum was not ill, and Dad had not lost it. I think back then we were.”

“Why can’t I find a picture of us from back then?”

At one point Mr Lahey seemed to have got rid of any pictures of his wife with his ungrateful children.

“That’s because you don’t know where to look,” Cam patted his brother’s knee and ran upstairs. Isaac heard him struggling with some boards (floorboards?), slide something heavy, and rush downstairs. “I kept these.”

Camden had actually brought back a large envelope that had obviously been concealed somewhere that even Lydia’s thorough cleaning and clearing operation had not located. In the envelope Isaac found a handful of family photos, when he was four or five. They were down by the coast. Isaac had only vague memories of a summer cabin. There were pictures of their father, looking happy and proud, and of their mother when she was healthy. They all looked happy and normal and… Cam took the envelope off of his brother’s hands and pulled out something else.

“That’s Mum’s planisphere,” Isaac remembered. It was the one he accused Camden of stealing the night he first saw the Wolf Star.

“This one is,” Cam smiled, but his eyes were sad.

They did not really say much else. Isaac carefully caressed the plastic disc and looked at the constellation names that had begun to fade.

“Come on,” Camden stood up at one point. Suddenly Isaac noticed the sun was much lower in the sky than he had anticipated. “We should get going.”

Isaac slowly stood up as he carefully put the pictures and the planisphere back in the envelope, and the envelope into the box.

“What are we doing with this house?” the younger Lahey asked the one question he had for his brother before they left.

Camden paused and sighed, taking his time to answer. “This was once our home. It was also a happy home. This house might be the last thing that could remind us of those days.”

***

“Zac, you’re an overprotective little shit, you know that?”

“Well, I learnt that from _someone_!”

“Guys…”

“Not now, Scott!” the two Laheys said in unison.

None of Scott’s friends had had any siblings, but he knew from movies and the TV that siblings argued over the stupidest things, and he had thought that was endearing. But then he had never seen two brothers having a row like the Laheys were having. Camden had been a werewolf for almost a month. He had survived his first full moon without any problems, and he wanted to go out of the house on his own. Isaac, however, was not letting his brother out of his sight, not-so-subtly hinting that he was terrified of him disappearing again. That day Isaac had to stay home to finalise the Dupont sale, Scott had to go to the clinic, and Camden did not want to spend a summer’s morning in the apartment.

“I’m your older brother, Isaac; you can’t keep me here.”

“Well, I’m your senior beta, Camden; so I get to boss you around.”

“You totally just made that up.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.”

“Have _not_.”

“Have _too_.”

“Scott!”

Cam turned to look at Scott, demanding an explanation, and begging the alpha to be reasonable and side with him. Isaac did the same, expecting his boyfriend to side with him.

“Don’t you think that he can go out? We all went to school after we were bitten,” Scott forced a smile, but Isaac was clearly not happy with this turn of events. “Nothing really happened…” That, of course, was a lie. Things had happened. Bad things involving kanimas and hunters.

“Judas Iscariot McCall,” Isaac pointed at his boyfriend as his brother gave him a shit-eating grin. “I’ll remember this.”

“Babe, be reasonable!”

“You’ve lost all snogging rights for a week.”

“That’s over the top?” Scott was now taken aback.

“Okay… this is domestic now. I’ll be on my way,” Camden tried to sneak away.

“Wait there,” Isaac insisted. “Okay, fine. I might have overreacted. What if you go with Derek?”

Cam stood in silence as Scott seriously considered this.

“You’re joking.”

“Please?” was all the alpha said.

Cam looked from Isaac to Scott and back to Isaac. How dared they boss him around? Those two dorks? Cam’s inner wolf began to stir and he felt his eyes glowing yellow, which reminded him that maybe he was not as much in control as he wanted to be.

“Fine. I’ll call Derek.”

“I’ll call him,” Isaac said as he pulled his phone out. “Have fun big bro,” he concluded with his infuriating smirk.

Cam went to his room to grab his wallet and keys and by the time he was by the door, Isaac told him that Derek would come and pick him up. Camden left the apartment with a quick goodbye, but still heard with his cursed supernatural hearing his brother bossing Scott into their room despite the alpha’s smiled complaints about being late. The last thing Cam heard was Isaac promising ‘don’t worry, we won’t be long’.

A few minutes later Derek was already there in his Camaro, and Camden jumped in.

“Hi, Derek,” Cam said as he closed the door. “Thanks for babysitting me.”

“That’s okay,” he said, putting his sunglasses on. “I’ve had a few new betas of my own.” He put the car in gear and drove off. “Where are we going today?”

“I just needed out, to be fair,” Cam admitted as he rolled the window down. “I want to _see_ Beacon Hills again.”

Derek nodded silently for a few seconds before speaking again.

“I know where to go then.”

“You bit my brother, right?”

Camden asked too casually, and Derek tensed. He purposefully did not answer, and just drove off. Cam let him be and he just looked out of the window in silence. Isaac had not told Cam many details about how he became a werewolf other than Derek biting him, but from what Scott had half-mentioned and implied, it was not too difficult for him to put all the pieces together. Cam had noticed how Isaac reacted whenever Boyd or Erica, who had apparently been part of his original pack, were named. Cam knew that the circumstances under which his brother had been bitten had not been like his. He also knew that Derek had pushed Isaac away at one point, which forced him to shift to Scott’s pack.

A few minutes later, Derek pulled over and Cam needed a few seconds to realise where they were.

“I hadn’t been here in ages,” Cam said when he got out of the car, shading his eyes with his hand. The buildings had changed ever so slightly. They had been painted, and there were new bike racks, but it was still Beacon Hills High, home of the Cyclones.

“I remember when you came home to pick Laura up for prom,” Derek said as he walked towards the sports field. Camden followed. “I half-remember you coming around a few times before, and I remember you from school, but seeing you there waiting for Laura…”

“I remember that night,” Camden grinned. “Your dad was very nice, but your mother was imposing… I won’t say scary, but she did look very carefully at me, as if deciding if she would let Laura come with me.”

“She probably was trying to smell wolfsbane on you. I was at the top of the stairs, looking how Laura walked down in her dress—”

“—Which was grey with a blue ribbon!!” Cam chuckled. By then they had reached the bleachers and had sat down. “Oh, dear… Two girls got really drunk that night, and we all went to the old diner on Madison Avenue for pancakes after the dance.”

Cam was lost in thought, remembering his high school days. He then told a few other anecdotes. Some of which Derek knew because they were part of his days of high-school gossip, but most were new to him. It seemed as if Cam could point at any part of the high school and find a memory and a story to share. Laura was in most of those stories, or perhaps Cam was trying to mention all of those where Derek’s sister featured.

“I was devastated when your house got on fire,” Cam eventually said. “Isaac and I, we’ve lost our mother, but I cannot imagine what it must have been for you and Laura… I never really had a chance to talk to her after that, because you soon went off to New York.”

Derek had imagined this would eventually come.

“She… she tried to leave Beacon Hills behind, I’m afraid. But I could tell you were one of the few reasons why she considered staying.”

There followed an uncomfortable silence that neither men knew how to fill.

“Isaac and Scott told me what happened,” Cam eventually said, meaning what had happened to Laura. He did not have to elaborate. He wished he could do the wolf-nuzzling thing that his brother did, because Derek seemed to need some supernatural comforting, but from what his brother and his boyfriend had told him, Derek was not one for that in any case. “I’m sorry…”

“The evening I picked your sister up before prom,” Cam seemingly changed topic after another silent pause. “I remember that I had left Jeff and Justin from the swimming team in the car waiting. They told me we’d pick up their dates later on our way to school, but I did not ask. Then, when your sister and I got back, they were making out!” Cam grinned and shook his head. “I could not believe what I saw. I think those two were the first two guys ever who went as a couple to prom in Beacon High… Justin said ‘that’s basically what you needed to know’, and Laura went ‘Camden, how did you not know!’. That was so funny… Maybe that’s why my dad hated them so much…”

Derek failed to see the point of that story, so he let Camden continue.

“I wish my brother could have had that. A normal prom, you know? Maybe even with Scott. I’m not sure what dad would have done if he’d… But I wasn’t there for Zac’s prom. _That’s_ my point. He wasn’t there either, of course; he was in France. But he was alive, which is more than what I know he hoped. I know you bit him, Derek, and I need to thank you for giving him that chance.”

“I should not be thanked for that…” Derek shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his head. The morning summer sun shone on them mercilessly, but neither men moved.

“Isaac hasn’t told me what exactly happened, and I’ve had to join the dots that Scott has hinted to. Whatever you did, I think my brother has moved on.”

“He shouldn’t…”

“Why did you bite my brother, Derek? I just want to know… You kept him alive, and that’s all I really care, but I know there is more to this story,” Camden insisted.

Derek could sense he was being simply curious, and that his gratitude overpowered any other feelings – so far. The former alpha thought for a few seconds. He knew this day had to come, and he had been preparing for it ever since he kicked Isaac out of his loft.

“Unlike Scott, I was a shitty alpha,” Derek admitted. “Like Scott though, I was never ready to be one. Or taught to be one. It was always going to be Laura… But then Peter lured her back, and killed her, and bit Scott. Ever since that night there was a countdown ‘til the day when Deucalion would come, seeking revenge,” Derek paused for a second. Cam was not looking at him, but he was listening. “I needed help, and Scott would not help me, so I tricked kids… vulnerable teenagers… into accepting the bite so they’d fight with me. _For_ me... Your brother…”

Considering the silences and the uncomfortable shifting whenever the topic came up, Cam had always suspected that the circumstances of his brother’s bite had not been ideal. Derek did offer him a way out of their father, but Derek had his own agenda too, and now that Camden knew what it was, he was trying to swallow that pill.

“That’s fucked up,” was all he could say. Derek now saw where Isaac had got his sass from, he turned around and flashed his ice-blue eyes. “I’m in no place to judge you, man. I left him with my dad hoping one day I’d rescue him… As I said, I just want to thank you for helping him when I couldn’t.”

“But did I really help him?”

Yet another silence. None of them knew what to say. It _was_ fucked up. But their lives had been fucked up way before that. It was only a small consolation that through fucked-up stuff they had survived and pulled through.

“I kicked him out, your brother. In the rain,” Derek finally admitted in a low voice. He did not even look up. “That’s why he ended up with the McCalls. I yelled at him and threw a glass at him and kicked him out when he wanted me to help...”

“You knew what our father was like?” Camden’s tone was icy, his mood had completely swung. Derek only nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Derek muttered.

“It’s not me you have to apologise to.”

Cam stood up and walked away from the bleachers, trying to calm down. Derek’s last revelation was perhaps one too many for him. His brother. His baby brother kicked out? Camden’s wolf demanded retribution. Damnit, _he_ wanted retribution. How fucking dared he? Biting him and hiding him was one thing, but throwing a glass at him!? Cam turned around, eyes flashing yellow, and very ready to punch Derek’s teeth in. The image of Zac being kicked out of the one place he might have felt safe made his blood boil.

It was then that he heard Scott’s voice again. _Someone who reminds you that you are not just your wolf; that you are not a monster. You are a werewolf, and you are a person_. Camden had an anchor; he had Isaac. And Isaac was alive and well, and with a boyfriend who loved him. And in his own tortured way, Derek had been the first step that had guaranteed that Isaac had that. There were many options, what-if’s and might-have’s; there were many parallel universes in which Camden returned and saved him. But the cold and painful truth was that he had not and that it had been Derek and not him who had done it. Camden’s only ever wish had been to be able to have a normal happy life with his brother again, and now he had it.

When Cam opened his eyes, he noticed that he was standing in front of Derek, just a few inches away, with his fist ready. It took him a few seconds to eventually pull away.

“You were very fucked up, Hale,” Camden huffed, still fuming, but forcing himself to calm down. “But I thanked you for saving my brother, and… and I stand with that.”

Isaac’s brother took a deep breath and extended his hand forward. Derek looked at him briefly, breathing in all the chemosignals that the other beta was exuding. Mostly anger. Justified and rightful anger. But there was something else – something Derek had learnt to associate to Scott. He took his hand and shook it.

***

The bell rang. Isaac and Scott had ran down to the shop to get some bits, so Cam guessed that they had left their keys behind. With an eye-roll he walked to the front door, and was about to mock his brother, but, when he opened the door, it was not them.

“Oh, Lydia, Stiles; hello? Are you looking for Scott?”

“Not this time,” the banshee smiled. “We came to see you.”

She planted two kisses on the werewolf and let herself into the flat, heading straight towards the living room.

“You okay, buddy?” Stiles grinned. He was carrying something in a bag. It looked heavy.

“Yeah, I am. What have I done?” he asked as he let Stiles in and closed the door.

“I don’t think you’ve done anything,” Stiles headed towards the kitchen and began to pull glasses out. “Hasn’t Isaac told you?”

“Told me what?”

“We’re having an official welcoming to the pack for you,” Lydia called from the living room, where she was moving the table and sofas around. “And maybe you with the superhuman strength could help me?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“So your baby bro has told you nothing?” Stiles walked in with a tray full of glasses.

“Well…” Cam grunted as he and Lydia pushed a sofa against the wall, but someone rang the bell again.

“Hang on, I’ll go,” Stiles offered.

“How’s life as a werewolf?” Lydia asked as she rearranged some chairs.

“It has its advantages. Although I am learning too much about my brother’s intimate life,” Cam rolled his eyes.

“Just be thankful they are not hormonal teenagers anymore.”

“I’ve never been a hormonal teenager,” Liam lied as he walked in. He was carrying a tray of food of some description. “Hey, Cam. You okay?”

“I think Scott and Malia would disagree,” Stiles clarified. Behind him came Mason.

“Hi, Liam. Hi, Mason,” Cam smiled. Of course, he already knew Liam and Stiles from the Dreamlands. He also knew Derek and Jackson from his days in Beacon H. Learning a handful of other names had not taken much effort. They were all nice people after all, and even if they were younger than him, he did not really mind being around them. “Is there some sort of official ceremony? Because Isaac never mentioned anything…”

“We just wanted an excuse to get all together, to be fair,” Mason beamed.

“I just came to make sure you knew your place,” Liam said not-so-casually. “You’re the baby beta now, not me. So when you fall in a hole or run around half-shifted and half-naked, I’ll be there to rub it in.”

Camden was not as tall as his brother, but was still a head taller than Liam, so he was surprised by this over-friendly threat. The older Lahey looked at Lydia, who to him seemed to be the most sensible of the pack, with a clear question on his face, and she silently told him to ignore Liam’s empty threats.

“I bet you’ll fall in a hole _again_ before Cam does,” Stiles joked as he popped open a bottle of fizzy wine to mix with some orange juice.

“You fell in a hole?” the tables had turned. Camden needed to know, and he arched his eyebrow in the same infuriating way his brother did. Liam hated him already

“That was not my point,” Liam insisted.

“Liam, stop before you get _too deep_ into that discussion,” Mason teased.

“That’d bring this conversation to a _whole_ different _low_ ,” a voice came from the corridor, soon followed by the shutting of the door. Malia walked in followed by Scott and Isaac.

“Please, just stop with your hole puns…” Liam shook his head, immediately regretting even mentioning it.

“Did your heart just _sink_ at the thought?” Isaac was loving this the most. “I wonder how you will _dig_ yourself out of this…”

“Can we have a normal get together, please?” Scott pleaded. “I brought two trays of doughnuts. You’ll all get one if you’re nice to each other.”

“Bribing your pack into submission, McCall?” Lydia sneered. “Don’t get me wrong, I totally approve, but your threats would have more effect if your boyfriend had not stuffed his face with one already.”

“BABE!” Scott scolded his boyfriend.

“I cannot confirm nor deny these allegations of eaten doughnuts,” Isaac said through a full mouth as he dusted sugar off his fingers.

“I don’t know why I try…”

The doorbell rang, so nobody had a chance to tell Scott why. Next came Ethan and Jackson, who walked in with matching shorts and linen shirts, and wearing the same sunglasses.

“Zac, why can’t you be more like Jacks and Ethan?” Camden teased. “They look like cool werewolves.”

“Do I look cool, babe?” Isaac turned around to ask Scott with faux hurt.

“You _always_ do,” the alpha said as he gave his boyfriend a quick kiss. The pack booed.

Despite the unusual levels of Liam-teasing, the morning went on smoothly. Everyone had questions for Cam; some of them he answered himself, and to some others Isaac gave his own view. The pack took this chance to know more about their newest member, although everyone else knew better than to ask about his family life. They wanted to know about the Dreamlands, they wanted to know about what he remembered from High School; they wanted to know about his first experiences as a werewolf.

“At least they did not kidnap you,” Liam pointed out. “Those two idiots wrapped me in tape and threw me in the tub before giving me the crappiest pep talk in the history of werewolfhood.”

“Don’t look at me,” Isaac said when his brother turned to him. “I was in France. By ‘idiots’ he means Scott and Stiles.”

“It was all perfectly _justified_ …” Stiles tried to explain, but the way Lydia rolled her eyes and the stifled laughs of Jackson and Ethan undermined his point.

This soon evolved into a competition to see who had the funniest pack anecdote. Most of them were stories which were only funny or acceptable in hindsight and with a predisposed stomach. Isaac having to prop up a collapsing ceiling with their parents trapped inside was not a really memorable story.

The pack was lost in their chat, so Cam took this chance to walk back to the kitchen to get some more water. He almost did not notice Jackson coming behind him.

“Hey, Jacks,” Cam smiled. Jackson was not the freckly and loud kid next door anymore, but he was still one of Isaac’s best friends. “How’s everything in England?”

“It’s okay, I guess,” the other beta shrugged. “It’s not as rainy as people think,” Cam stared blankly. “Fine it rains often, but it’s never super heavy rain.”

“Sounds miserable nonetheless,” he chuckled. “How are your parents? Isaac told me that—”

“Erm, yeah,” Jackson scratched the back of his head. “They are not my biological parents, you may know… but they are the only parents I know. It took me a while and some help to accept that. But they’re okay. They come to Europe once a year.”

Camden only brought up the question about Jackson’s parents because he had his own question about _his_ father. Jackson only realised when the silence between them grew too long.

“Ah…”

“Jackson, I’m sorry. I do not, I mean…”

“What are you two doing?” Isaac suddenly appeared at the kitchen door. His eyes were hard. Of course, Isaac would have noticed his brother’s uneasiness, and came to investigate when he noticed Jackson was also gone.

“We were just—”

“I don’t want to talk about dad,” Isaac whispered angrily. “I would rather you didn’t either.”

Camden understood what his brother wanted, but he had also been his father. And Cam had not been there when the kanima killed him.

“Isaac is upset!” Malia suddenly shouted from the living room with her usual tactlessness.

Isaac palmed his face while Jackson rolled his eyes. Soon the pack was crowding the kitchen, Scott looking distressed, but the situation was ludicrous enough to dispel any bad feelings that might have been floating around.

“I’m fine!” Isaac said loudly. “We’re all fine. We were not talking about traumatic family experiences. Please go back to the doughnuts.”

“You ate the last one,” Ethan pointed out.

“He always does,” Mason stage whispered.

“He has always done that,” Camden confirmed.

“Okay. On other news, you are all crowding around me, and making fun of my love of doughnuts,” Isaac explained with a forced-calm voice. The werewolves could tell there was an edge to it despite the intended humorous tone. “I don’t like this. I thought we were teasing Liam today. But we can tease my brother.”

“I’m the new guy. That’d be mean,” Cam grinned as he slowly stepped back, to give his brother some extra space.

“We’re all fine,” Jackson said with his usual tired voice. “Come on, move out everyone.”

With that, the pack slowly shifted back to the living room, back to the drinks and chats and background soft radio. All except for Scott and Isaac, who remained in the kitchen, hands held and fingers laced.

Cam walked away too, but he still noticed Scott whispering something into Isaac’s ear. Whatever it was, any remaining tension his brother had vanished, and his brother planted a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s hair. Cam already knew that Scott was good for Isaac, but he would never get tired of the small things that the alpha did every day for him. Isaac deserved them. And Cam was happy to be there to witness.

He then looked over to the gathered pack, his newly found friends. It might have been a pack thing, but he really felt comfortable around them. He was happy when they were around. Camden had not had such a circle of friends in a while – not in the Dreamlands, not in the army. He could certainly get used to them. Camden was going to like having a pack.

***

The day came when Isaac’s exam results had to be announced. Scott woke up and noticed that Isaac was up already. Considering how stressed Isaac had been the weeks before the exam, Scott was surprised his boyfriend had not been pacing up and down the apartment all night. Scott had even got Isaac a stress ball in the shape of a penguin to help him cope a bit, but that backfired with hilarious consequences when Cam teased his brother about something or other and the beta tossed the penguin at his brother’s face.

“Morning,” Scott said as he stretched and yawned when he walked into the kitchen.

Isaac was sitting there with his chin on the table, fidgeting with his hands on his lap, and tapping his foot. He was completely focused on his laptop, which was open on his university webmail site.

“Morning,” Cam said from the counter, drinking from his mug. There was a few seconds’ pause, and then he spoke again. “Isaac says good morning too.”

“G’ m’rn’,” he grumbled, mostly to himself as he kept staring at the screen and clicked refresh.

“Ignore him,” Cam said as he handed Scott a mug and offered to fill it up. “He can be like that at times. But I’m sure you knew already…”

Scott grinned and nodded, but refused to say anything aloud.

“Urgggg, can you just, like, leave me _alone_ for a minute?”

“Aaand he’s thirteen again,” Cam added as the waffles popped out of the toaster.

“I’m not, thank you very much,” Isaac insisted as he clicked refresh once again. Scott kissed the top of his head before sitting by his side.

Camden and Scott began their own conversation, leaving Isaac to brood over his laptop. The two of them had soon found out that, other than the worried werewolf in the kitchen with them, they had many things in common. Isaac had never really talked much about his brother, so Scott was very surprised that they had similar tastes in music and movies. They tended to avoid delicate topics, like high school or family, but Cam was an easy person to talk with, and after a number of years in the Dreamlands, the older Lahey was happy for any form of mundane reality or funny werewolf stories.

“I mean, we laugh about it now, because it _is_ funny, but back then it was quite confusing and scary when Jackson asked me where I was getting my juice from…”

As both Scott and Cam chuckled Isaac clicked the refresh button for the millionth time, although this time the laptop made a little bell noise. Isaac suddenly sat up, as straight as a meerkat, while Scott and Cam moved so they were behind him, looking at the screen.

“They’re in!”

“Go on, open it!”

But Isaac was frozen there. All his impatience and pent up frustration had evaporated and turned into doubt and indecision.

“I don’t want to read it…” he mumbled.

“Oh my _God_ , babe!” Scott moaned. “You’re incredible.”

“Gimme that,” Cam reached for the laptop, and his brother did not stop him.

“Okay, I really don’t want to know,” Isaac stood up, pushing the chair away with a screech.

“Zac, wait,” Cam called him.

“No, no… I mean, I don’t think I can!”

“Babe, whatever it is, we’re all very proud of you. Plus, there is no way you’ve cocked this up.”

“Dear Mr Lahey, candidate number blah blah blah…”

“Cam, please don’t,” Isaac went to stop his brother, but Camden rolled away so the laptop was out of his reach, and Scott got in the way with a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Dah dah dah… BSc in Earth Sciences blah blah _first class_!”

Isaac stood still, not really sure if his brother was pulling his leg or not. Scott, on the contrary, was beaming at him, full of pride and happiness and his sappy puppy eyes and turned Isaac’s insides into a warm mush.

“Extended essay 1, 71; extended essay 2, 70; exam, 68; final dissertation 78… I take that’s good?” Cam asked, not really sure he understood the British university grading system. Isaac nodded ever so slightly. “Congrats then! Oh, my God, Isaac, you’re such a nerd!”

“What?” Isaac managed to say as his brain processed all the information. But before he could embarrass himself any further Scott was kissing him and hugging him. His brother also gave him a big hug when Scott pulled away to text furiously and then ring his mom.

Camden was saying something or other, but Isaac was not listening. He had _passed_? And he had passed with flying colours? And wait, was Camden crying?

Isaac’s phone began to beep uninterrupted as messages from his friends came in. Scott gave him his phone so Melissa and Chris could congratulate him personally. Chris also said that they were going out to the seafood restaurant to celebrate.

All the messages he got were encouraging and congratulating. Despite his self-doubt and his insecurity and the voice in his head that insisted that he would never be anyone or achieve anything, Isaac had done it; he had finished college. He had a boyfriend. He had a group of friends. He even had a new family. And now, he was the pack’s Chief Earth Scientician.

***

As it happened on Sunday evenings, Scott and Isaac went to see their parents for a family dinner. This time, however, was a special day because Chris was finally out of the hospital and Camden was coming for the first time.

“My boys!” Melissa shrieked with joy as she opened the door, kissing Scott and Isaac loudly.

“Hello, Mrs McCall,” Camden said politely. He pulled out a potted orchid from behind his back. “Isaac told me you liked flowers but that you haven’t got much time to… Anyways, I have been assured these things are pretty and largely unkillable.”

“It is beautiful, Camden,” Melissa and Cam had coincided a couple of times during the last weeks, but had not had a chance to talk properly. “But you did not need to bring anything.”

“I did, though,” Cam was still waiting outside. “I know what you have done for my brother. What all this pack has done for him, really. I need to thank you all.”

Melissa beamed (much in the way Scott did, Camden noticed), and she brought Cam into a tight hug, a motherly hug that Camden had not known he needed.

“You two are the sweetest boys. I know that, wherever she is, your mother will be proud.”

Camden blushed as Melissa ushered him inside. Isaac called him over to the living room, where Chris was standing, waiting for them.

“You must be Mr Argent,” Camden shook his hand.

“Camden, it is a pleasure to meet you. Call me Chris,” Chris’ voice was still raspy, and he had to stand with the aid of a stick, but his handshake was more than firm. Isaac and Scott looked at each other at the first-name basis offer the hunter had just thrown. “How does it feel being back to life?”

“I’m sure you know well how that feels.”

“Scott bit him and Cam’s now a werewolf!” Isaac blurted, unable to contain the secret any longer, and without any evident prompt. Chris and Camden shot incredulous looks at Isaac.

“Way to go, babe,” Scott palmed his face.

“Oh,” Chris turned to the alpha with an icy glare. “This is how we’re playing now?”

“Mr Argent,” Scott hurriedly said, “it was a matter of life or death, and I could not—”

“Relax, Scott, I’m just pulling your leg,” Chris chuckled. “You should know already that I trust your judgement.”

Melissa came around and told Isaac and Scott to set the table in the back garden, seeing that it was such a nice summer afternoon. The two boys went and Melissa asked Cam to sit on the sofa as she poured him a glass of something cold before sitting down next to Chris.

“How’s life with those two?” Mrs McCall asked.

“It’s actually bearable,” Cam smiled. “I have no complaints. I’m really happy to be here.”

“Isaac has completely changed since you’ve been back,” Melissa continued. “You coming back has been the best thing he could have hoped for. The boys have told you about the summer…?”

“They have…” Camden nodded as he took a long sip of Melissa’s finest iced tea. “I was there for most of it, but… what those boys have gone through… And I don’t mean just now.”

There was a silent pause. Chris and Melissa knew all too well what their kids had endured. The serious pause was broken, however, by Isaac and Scott fooling around in the back garden, apparently throwing bread balls at each other. Even without supernatural hearing, everyone in the room could hear Scott saying ‘that’s not fair—ouch!’.

“Isaac knows this already, but we should perhaps tell you this,” Chris continued, more seriously this time. Cam knew he was a hunter who used to shot down werewolves, but he had been assured that those were not his ways anymore. Isaac’s brother just nodded. “For better or for worse you’re a member of this pack through Scott, but through Isaac you can be a member of this family.”

“Isaac will always be your brother,” Melissa continued. “We could never take that away from you, but you need to know that we are also here if you want us to be there for you.”

Camden was happy with the idea of having a pack, but they were talking family now. Nothing could have ever prepared him for that.

“I… I have lived for a very long time without a real family,” Camden admitted in a low voice. Outside, it sounded as if Scott was shooting Isaac with a water pistol as they ran around. “For a long time it was just Zac and me, but… but maybe I could… I mean, thank you; I think I’d like that.”

Chris and Melissa smiled, just as Scott and Isaac ran into the kitchen, panting and mostly wet.

“Mom, table is ready,” Scott grinned and Isaac, who was standing behind him, threw his arm over Scott’s chest and pulled him back towards him so he could kiss his cheek.

“Let’s go eat, then,” Melissa smiled. She helped Chis back on his feet and they all walked outside.

The meal that they had prepared was an odd combination of (plentiful) Mexican starters and a French main – the one proper recipe that Chris knew how to cook, ratatouille with an oven-cooked sea bass. They drank one of Chris’ precious imported bottles of wine, and they had an easy conversation about everything: from Stiles’ coping with Lydia spending so much time in England, to the latest changes in the hospital’s cafeteria menu. They covered also what Cam’s plans might be, seeing that he was now back in civilian werewolf life. Scott suggested he joined the Sheriff’s office, but Isaac pointed out that seemed to be his default job for anyone in the pack.

“I may have a word with Coach,” Cam said after a long pause. “We have a history, and he may need an assistant?”

Isaac looked at his brother for a few seconds. Isaac tried to see if there was something inherently wrong in his brother trying to take over their dad’s old job. Scott noticed something brewing in his boyfriend’s head, so he reached for his hand and squeezed it, and Isaac snapped back.

“What’s wrong?” Scott whispered. Cam was telling Melissa and Chris something about his ‘adventures’ with Coach in the Dreamlands.

“Nothing,” he pulled a smile. “I think he’d actually do a much better job…”

Plates were cleared, and dessert was brought over. Once the cheesecake was gone, everyone sank in their chairs just to enjoy the cool breeze in the shade, while discussing unimportant things – that is, until Chris cleared his throat intently.

“Boys, as you know, we are getting married later this fall,” everyone nodded. Especially Scott, who had done an amazing job in organising a short-notice wine tasting bachelorette party for his mother with a handful of her friends from work, some of her cousins, plus Lydia and Malia. “Considering the most recent events and the new life I am going to start, I think it may be time for me to retire.”

Scott and Isaac’s jaws dropped. They had not seen that coming.

“You can’t! Chris! What if—”

“If there is a major emergency, I guess I can be called back,” Chris nodded, although Melissa frowned. “But I will from now on focus on the business. Isaac,” the hunter looked at his adopted son, “I know you have been thinking about changing trades and doing something with your degree, but you can always count on the family business. _Our_ family business.”

Isaac nodded emphatically as he fidgeted with his spoon. He had still no idea of what to do about work. He liked working for Chris, it gave him a chance to pay back, and Chris was an understanding boss when it came to cutting hours because of supernatural emergencies. But something inside him, something deeply buried from when he was much younger, wanted him to do something else.

“Hang on,” Scott interrupted with the face his boyfriend knew meant that he had just had an idea. “Mom, you’re marrying Chris!”

“Sweetheart, you sound surprised? You’ve known for months,” Melissa said slightly worried.

“No, no, I know. I mean, you’re becoming an Argent. Just like Isaac.”

“Scott, you don’t have to change your name,” his mother smiled.

“Lahey has a ring to it, though…” Isaac had to throw in a joke. Camden chuckled.

“No, _listen_. You are going to be the senior Argent woman. It’s like Allison,” Scott said quickly as his thoughts piled in. “You are going to be the leader of the Argent family!”

A silence followed.

“I thought that was your aunt Camille?” Melissa whispered.

“But we are starting a new Argent family here in America,” Chris said slowly as realisation crept in. Obviously he had not even considered this possibility. “Our hunter family is going to include two— _three_ werewolves,” Chris pointed at Cam. “You’ll be the rightful leader...”

Melissa slowly leaned back on her chair with a butter-won’t-melt smirk. She laced her fingers together and carefully observed the four men that surrounded her: her husband-to-be smiling fondly, her beaming son, his dumbfounded boyfriend, and poor old Camden, who was not sure of what was going on. Leader of the Argent family? Matriarch of the McCall pack? Authority to tell her kids off whenever they went on stupid and dangerous missions? More-than-probable trips to France for business and a side of wine? And all this whilst still doing her nursing job? Her smirk widened.

“Did you ever doubt it?”

***

Isaac was extremely excited. He had been planning this weekend for ages, and now the opportunity had finally arrived. He had not expected the pack minus the Hales (Malia could not come as she was working, and Derek was still avoiding being for too long around Camden) to tag along in what he had expected to be an otter-spotting romantic seaside mini-break, but Lydia had made sure that the alpha and his boyfriend had two hours for themselves.

The beaches of Northern California were not the never-ending sand bars of the south, but they were, for Isaac, more beautiful; there were smaller coves, surrounded by rocks and cliffs, and many under the shade of imposing redwoods. During the previous summer, when Scott and Isaac had their first phone call, Isaac had been walking along the sandy beaches of the French Atlantic waiting for something to happen. Something he was hoping now to share with Scott.

“Why are we here?” Scott smiled. He was walking hand in hand with Isaac, but Isaac was leading them down the forest path to the west-facing beach, away from the south-facing cove where the rest of the pack was camping. “It’s gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I know when you’re planning something, Lahey…”

“I want to show you something,” Isaac laughed. He was in his short, black swimming trunks with watermelons and pineapples, and was wearing a loose, white, button-up, short-sleeved shirt. Scott wore longer, knee-length surfer trunks and an old Beacon Hills Cyclones T-shirt.

“What is it? Is it more otters? They _are_ cute, babe, but I don’t think I can take any more pictures of sea otters…”

“ _Something_ , Scott,” Isaac chuckled, not giving the secret away. “Such an impatient werewolf!”

Scott pulled his hand out of Isaac’s and went to push his boyfriend. The beta tried to dodge, but the alpha was too quick.

“Why are we walking to this other beach?” Scott tried a different question.

“Maybe I want you all for myself,” Isaac grinned.

“You usually hog me, even when the pack is around.”

“So what? You’re fit,” Isaac groped Scott’s ass as he said that, and the alpha was quick to put his arms around his beta to bring him in for a needy kiss. “I can’t help myself.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Scott beamed and looked at his boyfriend with those eyes that Isaac could melt and drown in.

Isaac pulled Scott closer towards him and might have grinded himself into his boyfriend, slipping a hand up his shirt as they kissed. When he sensed Scott getting hard, he pushed away with an evil smirk and grabbed his boyfriend’s hand.

“Come on,” Isaac pulled Scott down the path to the beach. “I said I wanted to show you something.”

Scott groaned in frustration, but he happily followed Isaac.

When they got to the coarse sand beach, the tide was going down. The waves roared loudly as they washed on the sand. There was even a loud seagull, just in case the werewolves were not aware that they were by the sea. Isaac led them to a spot in the middle of the beach where they sat down.

“Are we watching the sunset?” Scott asked with his big smile as he pointed at the sinking orange star.

“Not quite…” Isaac dug his feet in the cool, wet sand and instinctively searched for Scott’s hand. The sun was half-buried in the ocean when Isaac spoke next. “Last summer, when I first rang you, I was by the sea in France.”

“I remember!”

“I waited until the sun set before ringing you,” Isaac admitted. “I was worried about what you’d say or that you would not want me back…” Scott was about to interrupt, but Isaac continued. “Anyways, I hoped to see the green flash.”

“What green flash?”

“This is a completely natural and non-evil one,” Isaac chuckled, calming his boyfriend. “When the sun sets in the sea, the last ray of sunshine can be diffracted by the water… and it can turn into a sudden flash of coloured light. I did not see it then, and I thought it was a bad sign…”

“Are we waiting for a flash of light then?”

“Yeah?”

There was a few seconds’ pause. Isaac stared down at the sand, and Scott just looked at his boyfriend.

“I don’t need a sign, or a shooting star, or a flash of light,” Scott said, squeezing Isaac’s hand and shifting closer to him. “I know we go together, and nothing will ever change that.”

“The Universe has been a bit of a dick to me,” Isaac only half-joked. “I think a rare physical phenomenon could be an encouraging sign.”

Isaac brought his head up to look at Scott, his blue eyes reflecting on his brown ones. They soon turned yellow and red, as their inner wolves surged forth and begged them. They needed each other. They belonged together. That was the one certain thing they knew.

They pulled each other into a soft kiss, hands carefully caressing cheeks and backs, and raking through curls. The ocean roared around them. The kiss deepened. They fell on the sand, Scott landing on top of Isaac, their legs entwined, their lips never breaking apart. Their inner wolves nuzzled and snuggled each other, mirroring their human selves, strengthening their unique, golden, shared bond.

“I love you, Isaac,” Scott said as he pulled apart. His heart was thumping, his pulse loud in his ears.

“To the moon and back, Scott,” Isaac smiled back and kissed his boyfriend again. He was the luckiest person in the world, and the warm feeling that inundated his chest was all the proof he needed.

The orange sky turned pink and then purple. The sun sunk into the western ocean. After a second and a half of the solar disc disappearing over the horizon, the last sunbeam flew through the choppy water, turning into a blueish-pink flash of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is nearly done! I liked writing the different bits of Camden meeting the pack. There is a lot to write about that, but I needed to keep it short. The chat with Derek needed to happen though, and I'm happy that Derek sees what he did. Also, I am not ashamed about the corny ending. They boys deserve it (especially after all I put them through). 
> 
> Just the epilogue to go!


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer is over and during the autumn months things go slowly back to normal.

**_October_ **

Chris was nervously pacing up and down his old apartment, making a loud noise with his new shoes (which he had been polishing all morning to an inch of their lives) with every step. He was also mumbling things angrily in a low voice. Isaac rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He knew Chris was stressed, and Isaac did not want to hurry him, but he was the one in charge that day. He had been told to make sure that everything on the Argent side went according to schedule.

“Come on, Chris,” Isaac complained, but the veteran hunter simply shushed him and continued his peripatetic internal deliberation.

Isaac went back to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He downed it and then walked back to the front door. He checked his new watch (a present of Scott’s). It was almost 10.45. They should be getting in the car soon.

“Please, Chris, it will all be ok!”

But the hunter simply glared at him from the far side of the corridor, and continued his now furious pacing.

Isaac looked into the mirror of the hall and made sure that his ocean green bowtie was still straight, but he adjusted it slightly nevertheless. He had refused to wear a clip-on on such a day, and he had spent most of his morning learning how to do a bowtie with YouTube tutorials. That had been painful, but he did it in the end. He pulled his cuffs down from his jacket and admired his silver cufflinks (also a present of Scott’s). He wished Scott were there with him today, but he was at that very moment far _far_ busier.

He checked his phone and sent his boyfriend a quick status update.

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 10:41

Hey handsome

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 10:41

How’s everything on your side x

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 10:41

We’re nearly ready

<Scott> 17/10/2020 10:41

hey bub

<Scott> 17/10/2020 10:41

Don’t get me started

<Scott> 17/10/2020 10:41

all I can promise is that we will be there

<Scott> 17/10/2020 10:42

Eventually

Isaac laughed and put his phone back in his pocket. He checked the time again and decided that Chris had had enough. He walked into his room and saw his adoptive father fighting with his cravat, waistcoat undone, cuffs unlinked, and his shirt collar half popped up.

“I don’t need your help, Isaac,” Chris snarled. _You might not need it, but you certainly could do with it_. Isaac sensed that Chris was not only nervous. There was something else in his chemosignals, but he could not guess what. “I’ve done this before.”

_Ah…_

“Well, Chris,” he said carefully. “I know you don’t need my help, but we have a tight schedule and as your best man I have been instructed to make sure nothing went wrong on our side. That includes wrestling you into the car if necessary.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Chris gave him a deadly stare as he kneeled down to pick up the fleur-de-lis cufflinks that had fallen to the floor.

Isaac did not move, but he did cross his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, purely for dramatic effect. He secretly hoped that his shirt would not crease just yet. As Chris stood up, he stared into the werewolf’s eyes for a second, before handing him the cufflinks.

“I can do my cravat.”

“Okay,” Isaac smiled back, uncrossing his arms, and wishing he had used more starch on his shirt.

When Chris managed to get the cravat tied to his satisfaction, Isaac pulled his collar down, and put the cuff links on Chris’ shirt.

“Ready?” Isaac asked.

Chris turned around to look in the mirror. He was clean-shaven and had his hair cut the day before. He was wearing a wool navy suit with a white shirt and a matching white waistcoat. He let out a deep sigh and nodded silently. Isaac gently squeezed his shoulder and led him down the corridor.

“Have you got the rings?” Chris asked before they left the flat.

“Yes, I do,” he assured him. “It’s not as if it is the _only_ real job I have today.”

“It _is_ your only job,” Chris retorted. “Everything else is just faffing around.”

Isaac bit his tongue before replying. “Well, because of my faffing around we will actually make it on time. So chop-chop.”

Chris turned around to glare at the werewolf, who just returned his stare with a wide smile as he rattled the car keys and led them out of the flat and down to the garage.

Andrew, Patrice and Fred were standing by the cars, wearing the same navy blue suit and ocean green bowtie as Isaac. The groom smiled when he saw them and went to give his groomsmen quick hugs. Then Patrice saw Isaac, and he beamed his biggest smile as he embraced the werewolf in a bear hug.

“Stop it! You’ll crease my shirt!” Isaac complained in French, but he hugged the hunter back. Patrice laughed.

“It’s so good to see you, _mon loup_!” he replied in English.

“No jetlag, I see…”

“Hey there, cousin!” Fred called him. Ever since finishing his hunter training the rest of the Argents had fully accepted him as one more family member, even if Chris had legally adopted him years ago.

“Fred, it’s great to see you!” Isaac hugged his cousin before moving on to the next hunter. “Andrew, nice to have you back in California. Hope it’s not for business this time?”

“Not just this time, lad.”

After exchanging hugs and pats on the shoulder with everyone, Isaac pointed at his watch, and begged the groom’s party to move on. But Patrice rose his hand.

“Hang on for a second. It’s true that the groom needs to be on time, but the bride is _always_ late. And this won’t take much, I promise,” the French hunter reassured when Isaac glared daggers at him. He produced a small hipflask and four shot glasses. “This Armagnac is kept in the cellar of the Argent chateau. It is not as old as our family, but it is certainly older than all of us here.”

He distributed the glasses around, and filled them.

“This is a toast to our _cher cousin_ Chris,” he raised the hipflask and winked at the American hunter. The groomsmen followed suit and raised their glasses. Chris shook his head, but smiled nevertheless, and raised his own glass. “To Chris, who even if he brought a werewolf into the family—“

“Oi!” Isaac protested.

“And a fine Argent he has proven to be!” Fred said, patting his cousin’s shoulder.

“Hear, hear!” Andrew chipped in.

“—he brought one werewolf into the family, but he has the good sense to marry the prettiest and bravest and kindest woman in California!”

Everyone cheered.

“She’s mother to _another_ werewolf, you know?” Isaac teased. The groomsmen chuckled.

“To Chris!” Patrice said once again.

“To Chris!”

They all cheered and downed their glasses, while Patrice took a long swing at the hipflask.

“Ok, now we really _really_ have to go,” Isaac warned as he checked his watch again.

Chris remained silent all the way to the old Spanish mission where Melissa’s grandmother had insisted they should get married. Isaac did not pry, but he knew that his adoptive father was still brooding.

“Chris,” Isaac asked as they took the turning to the mission, “I know that you are not having doubts about the wedding, but I know that something else is worrying you. Earlier you said that you had done this before… Is this about Victoria?”

Chris froze at the mention of his first wife.

“She loved you and loved Allison,” Isaac purposefully left Scott or any other werewolf out of that list. “Don’t you think she would be happy for you?”

“She’d have a heart attack knowing there were going to be werewolves at an Argent wedding…”

“She did not have a chance to know of Allison’s code,” Isaac offered a smile. “Plus, Melissa _is_ a catch,” he added with a cheeky grin and Chris eventually chuckled.

“Wherever did you learn to give pep talks?”

“Mostly Camden.”

“Maybe you should listen more to Scott…”

When they got to the mission, Camden, Jackson, and Ethan (to whom Isaac had given a list of instructions) were waiting for them. A few early guests had arrived; they were mostly those Argents who had flown over from France, and the three werewolves were more than slightly nervous around them, considering the heavy smell of wolfsbane some of them had around them.

“Morning, gents,” Isaac smiled as he hugged the three of them and Chris shook hands with his relatives.

“Looking very elegant, Zac,” Camden smiled. He was wearing a black suit with a Beacon Hills Cyclones grey and burgundy tie. Isaac had no clue of where he got it from.

“You’re looking very fine yourself.”

“Your brother is right though,” Jackson chipped in with a knowing grin; again, the couple wore matching designer black suits with silk ties the same shade as their werewolf eyes. “McCall is going to jizz his underpants when he sees you.”

Ethan punched his boyfriend’s shoulder, but Isaac actually liked the compliment. He had not seen Scott for a couple of days while he stayed with his mother, and neither had seen the other’s outfit, and that was the reaction he wanted from Scott.

“Zac,” Cam asked with a wry smile, which Isaac knew meant nothing good. “Do you know who that girl is?” he then pointed at one of the Argents who was in a beautiful champagne dress.

“I actually do! She’s Louise, the boys know her.”

“Oh, I hadn’t recognised her without the heavy guns or the Kevlar kit,” Ethan nodded. Louise had been with them in Bégnan.

“Are you sure you want to ask a hunter out?” Jackson pointed.

“It worked before,” Isaac commented with a sad smile. “But you shouldn’t anyways.”

“Why’s that.”

“She’s my cousin now, which technically makes her _your_ cousin, and, frankly? That sounds too incestuous…”

“Piss off, Zac.”

The three other werewolves laughed loudly.

Isaac took his brother to meet her and the rest of the other members of the Argent clan, or at least the ones he knew. Aunt Camille, the reigning matriarch, was also there, and she seemed very happy to see Isaac. Cam lingered around, chatting to Louise, but Isaac had other places to be, and various things to fix, including paying the string quartet, making sure Chris went to see Father Sánchez, and that Jackson and Ethan directed the guests to their respective sides of the church.

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:27

Hey handsome xx

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:27

We’re almost ready

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 11:27

Almost?

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:28

Pls don’t ever tell my mom I said this

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:28

Or Lydia

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:28

Or Malia

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:28

But especially Lydia

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:28

Women take ages

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 11:29

You’re gonna need to have a chat with the pack’s head of HR

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 11:29

Tut tut

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 11:29

So not cool what you just said

<Isaac> 17/10/2020 11:30

ETA?

<Scott> 17/10/2020 11:31

Eventually…???

Isaac was not sure if he wanted to growl or punch something or cry. Chris was already nervous as it was, so for the moment he withheld the information. The wedding was meant to start at noon, so there was still plenty of time.

The werewolf went to the front of the church to greet and meet the guests with Chris. He gave Derek, who was about to take a seat, a quick hug on his way there. The Sheriff and Natalie were just arriving, and Parrish walked up the steps next. There were smiles and hugs and kisses everywhere, and people already taking pictures with their phones. Stiles had begged to be the official photographer, and Chris and Melissa had accepted, despite Isaac’s fears. Isaac wished he could have pictures taken with Scott that day, both in their suits, but he knew that their werewolf eyes would ruin them.

Noon arrived, and all the guests were in and seated. The string quartet was playing one of the Baroque songs chosen by Chris directly. The groom was standing by the altar with his groomsmen. Isaac was at the door, looking and waiting.

“Come on, Scott…”

As if on cue, his phone began ringing.

“Babe!”

“Where are you?” Isaac demanded.

“We’re on our way… _finally_.”

“How’s the bride?”

“She says she loves you dearly but to stop asking stupid questions,” Scott retold what his mother said.

“Gee, okay, okay. Lydia and Malia are there?”

“They’re in the car behind.” Lydia and Malia were two of Melissa’s bridesmaids, the other two were Scott’s aunts.

“Okay, okay, cool… I can’t wait to see you,” Isaac added after sighing, trying to imagine Scott in his suit.

“Don’t be impatient,” he could hear his boyfriend’s smile in his voice. “I can’t wait to see you either.”

“See you in a bit then!”

“Love you.”

Isaac walked into the church, and everybody turned around only to groan in disappointment when they saw it was not Melissa. Isaac just winked and straightened the lapels of his jacket. He made a beeline to the altar to reassure Chris that the bridal party was on its way, and Chris sighed in relief.

“Ready?” Isaac whispered, but Chris scowled back.

Chris was fidgeting with his shirt and Isaac had to resist the urge to bat his hands off, but at that point the quartet began Wagner’s bridal march. The guests stood up. The doors opened, and in came the bridesmaids in matching short, lilac satin dresses. Next came Melissa in a beautiful sleeveless white dress with a veil. Isaac was left dumbfounded: she looked stunning, but what took his breath away was Scott, who was walking by his mother.

Scott was in a slim-fitting black suit with satin lapels. He had a carnation pinned to his jacket, of a deep-red colour that matched his burgundy bow tie. He had had a fresh haircut and a clean shave, and he was so happy that he positively glowed with a smile that perfectly matched Melissa’s. Isaac knew that this was all about Chris and Mellissa, but he had never seen Scott dressed like that, and he felt an unexpected pull from his groin and his cheeks blush. Then Scott saw him, he gave him a wink and blew him a kiss. Isaac was too giddy to do anything other than grin back.

The ceremony was long. The priest insisted in giving a full service, which Melissa’s older relatives seemed to approve of. When the moment came, Isaac walked forth and handed over the rings, which Father Sánchez blessed and then gave to Melissa and Chris. Vows were exchanged, the priest gave a general blessing, and the newlyweds kissed to a great cheer. At that point, the quartet, predictably, played Mendelssohn. The bridesmaids and the groomsmen paired up and walked down the aisle towards the exit, leaving Scott and Isaac to walk just ahead of Mr and Mrs Argent-McCall.

“You’ve got no right to look so good,” Isaac whispered with a massive grin as Scott took his arm.

“I think my mom had to remind me how to breathe when we walked in and I saw you,” Scott replied.

Outside the church there was a rain of petals, flowers and rice, followed by cheers and an applause. Many pictures were taken of the newlyweds outside the old mission with the Delgado family, with the Argents, with the McCall pack, and all together. Stiles had to instruct all werewolves to shut their eyes and to smile.

It was almost half-past two when the wedding party arrived to the place where they were holding the reception. Instead of a restaurant, Chris and Melissa had decided to hold their reception in a private redwood forest north of Beacon Hills. In between the large trees and the soft bark-and-needle floor, there were a couple dozen tables. The trees were decorated with ribbons and flowers (no wolfsbane), and there was an open space reserved for dancing.

Five courses and many bottles of French and Californian wine later came the moment for Scott and Isaac to give their speeches. Both werewolves gave half of their speech in English and the other in their second language of choice (Isaac in French, and Scott in Spanish), and while Isaac was meticulous enough to read exactly what he had written (and re-written many times), Scott surprised everyone by delivering it without any notes. Each of them concluded proposing a toast with their champagne flutes, which all the guests did, of course. After Isaac finished, Jackson shouted ‘kiss, kiss!’, and Melissa leaned in to kiss Chris. He then shouted ‘now Isaac!’ and, glowing red, the beta walked over to Scott’s side of the table and kissed his boyfriend.

***

Speeches and toasts done, Chris and Melissa stood up and headed to the dance floor, where they danced to a waltz as everybody watched. Scott and Isaac sat as they observed their parents enjoying their day. Both werewolves kept very close to each other, with their shoulders brushing, hands held, and their knees touching. They were whispering softly to each other, both fearing that if they spoke too loudly they might burst the magical bubble that surrounded the newlyweds. The song came to an end and everybody clapped. The DJ played another tune as Chris asked Aunt Camille to dance, and Melissa did the same with Scott. Scott beamed and let his mother drag him to the dance floor, promising his boyfriend to be back soon. This gave Isaac the chance to relax into his chair. All his responsibilities were over now: he had brought Chris to the altar, handed the rings over, and was on call until the dance. Job done.

“Well done, Zac!” Cam, who had been sitting at the pack table, came and patted his shoulder as more people stood up to dance. Other than Scott, his brother was the one who probably knew how much Isaac had had to do. “You can put your feet up and enjoy the evening.”

“I think that if I put my feet up I might just crash,” Isaac only half-joked. All the stress had been exhausting and was taking its toll.

“Why don’t you come over then while they all dance and have a few drinks?”

“You know we can’t get drunk, right?”

“That’s not what Jackson has told me. He says he can spike it.”

Isaac leaned over to look at the pack table to glare at Jackson, but he was not there. He was dancing with Ethan in their ridiculously perfect tailored suits. So were Malia with a very reluctant Derek (even if he seemed to be quite proficient in ballroom dancing, and Isaac made a mental note to inquire later if he had taken lessons). Stiles was taking photos like a madman, but he could not see Lydia until it was too late.

“Lahey One,” the redhead said with a content grin as she approached.

“Who’s Lahey One?” Cam asked in confusion.

“Obviously Isaac,” she pointed out. “You came later. I’m sorry, Lahey Two.”

“Well, well, _well_ , what may I do for you, Martin?” Isaac said as he cocked his head and grinned at his brother.

“Stand up and come to dance.”

“I… er…” Isaac bluescreened. Camden giggled.

“Stiles is too busy playing Peter Parker with his camera. I will not sit down when I have a chance to do some _proper_ dancing,” she tapped her shoe impatiently.

“You know I can’t dance?”

“You’ll need to learn for Scott,” she pointed at the way Scott was swinging elegantly with his mother to the music. Isaac’s heart stopped for a beat.

“Is this some sort of payback for that time you turned me down in freshman year?”

“Shut up and come over,” she insisted.

“But—”

“I’ll lead, don’t worry.”

“I never doubted that for a second,” Isaac grinned as he stood up and let Lydia lead him to the dance floor.

“I… erm… You know when I told Stiles I’d kill you for that… I’m very sorry. Because I don’t think I really meant…” the beta flustered over what he had just said while Lydia swung them around. Only Isaac’s werewolf reflexes (and a dire fear of what might happen otherwise) kept him from standing on her feet.

“You stopped an arrow from hitting my face,” Lydia smirked as she pulled Isaac tighter and had them swirl. “Plus we were all obnoxious teenagers back then, and you were high on werewolf power… I think it’s safe to say we are well over that now.”

Clearly relieved to hear that, Isaac relaxed and allowed himself to enjoy dancing around with Lydia Martin.

“One more thing,” Lydia added, making Isaac nearly trip. “Don’t tease Stiles about us dancing.”

“I would never—” the werewolf began to pull his cocky grin, but Lydia cut him short.

“Don’t press your luck, Lahey,” the banshee warned, but Isaac knew there was no heat to it. Mostly. “I know you too well,” she concluded with a smirk. He just nodded and surprised Lydia by switching their pose and taking the lead.

As the evening advanced, Isaac found himself being pulled around almost as much as Chris. The groom was expected to hover from group to group, and from table to table, to thank people and chat with them (and, with Patrice and Andrew, laugh _very_ loudly). But Isaac was not the groom, and yet, when Ethan and Jackson pulled him over to dance with them, Isaac could not say no. The same happened when Melissa called him over to the younger Delgados’ table to meet all of her cousins. Then Malia came looking for him, because she needed someone to translate her blunt flirting to one of Isaac’s ‘new’ distant cousins. Those two soon got on like _une maison en feu_ , and Isaac tried to sneak away, but Fred called him over to the Argent table, and he could not say no.

So Isaac danced, and talked to distant relatives and friends, and helped wherever he was needed. He even had a chance to sit down with Chris to have a hot dog from the trolley that was serving night snacks as the party went on. But in all that time, Isaac never had a chance to be with Scott, who was equally demanded by Delgados and Argents alike. The two werewolves winked at each other whenever they passed by, but they never had a chance to sit and have a quiet drink or a little chat. Of course, what Isaac really wanted was to _finally_ dance with him.

***

It was near midnight. The older guests had been slowly dripping away (Isaac had, of course, to be there to say goodbyes and kiss all the Argents and all the Delgados). Isaac’s werewolf stamina was beginning to fade (especially after the stress-induced adrenaline crash), so he found a quiet cushioned chair under one of the massive redwoods and collapsed there with a groan.

“Tough night?”

Isaac looked up to see Scott smiling at him.

“You could say that…” the beta snorted a chuckle.

“Mind if I sit down?” Scott asked, and before Isaac noticed, the alpha was sitting on his lap with an arm around the blond werewolf’s shoulders. “There weren’t any chairs,” he smiled.

“You’re going to crease my suit,” the beta fake complained.

“That ship sailed long ago, babe.”

“At least I still keep my bow tie done,” Isaac pointed out. Scott at one point had undone his, and it was hanging at uneven lengths at either side of his neck. Scott’s skin was sweaty and shiny from all the dancing; his shirt was creased, and there was a stain on his jacket; but he still looked gorgeous.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Scott blushed.

“Like what?”

“Like you are looking at me now.” Their respective inner wolves nuzzled each other, transmitting to their human-selves what they were teasingly not saying. “Like…”

“You did hang up the moon, Scott,” Isaac smiled and did not let him continue. For Isaac Scott was spun in gold, and he knew he never told his boyfriend enough. “For me, at least.”

Scott leant in to give him a quick peck, but Isaac pulled him in for a proper, deeper, needier, _electric_ kiss.

“Do you think that we’ll have a chance to dance now?” Scott smiled as they pulled apart, softly combing his fingers through Isaac’s hair.

Isaac leant to the side to see that very few people were still dancing. Mason had hit it off with one of Scott’s cousins and they were dancing very close together, but there were not that many other people. The guests seemed to be back at their tables, finishing their drinks, and chatting and laughing.

“We should be fine,” Isaac confirmed and kissed Scott once more before they both stood up.

“About time, McCall!” Jackson shouted when he saw the couple walk on the dancefloor. They ignored him.

Scott put his hands around Isaac’s waist while the taller werewolf tried to do his boyfriend’s tie.

“I want a picture of us together in our suits,” Isaac explained.

“We had that one taken earlier today?”

“I just want the two of us,” Isaac finished the bowtie, kissed Scott’s forehead, and put Scott’s hands on his shoulders while he put his own hands around Scott’s waist. Isaac might have brought them slightly lower once he pulled Scott closer to him.

“We’ll get Stiles to take one,” Scott beamed before resting his chin on Isaac’s shoulder, and both moved to the calmed rhythm of the slow song.

“So, Isaac,” Scott said after the song ended and the DJ put something faster. The couple pulled slightly apart. “I’ve been thinking…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Isaac even stopped dancing. “Don’t you dare propose during your mother’s wedding, and—”

“Wait? No! What? Babe!” Scott shook his head with a big smile. “It’s not that. I _promise_ ,” Scott insisted when Isaac looked at him funny. “It’s something else.”

“Oh. Okay. Do tell?”

“I have been thinking, and making numbers…”

“And?”

“I think that we should go to Europe next year. For Easter or something. But really go this time,” Scott smiled, as if he had already made up his mind. “I’ve never been there, and I want to go and see where you lived in France.”

“I’m not a big fan of planes, babe,” Isaac remembered how he dug his claws into the arm-rests of the plane on his way to France. That had been embarrassing.

“I’ll be with you. And we’ll go to London and see Jackson and Ethan. And Lydia.”

“Is Stiles going to come?” Isaac knew there had to be a catch.

“Not to the French part of the trip,” Scott kept smiling. _Of course there was a catch…_ Isaac rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. “Only to England.”

“We will have to go to see Iestyn,” the blond werewolf pointed out. “He’ll kill me if we go all the way there and do not visit him. _Them_. Him and his crazy Welsh pack.”

“Sure,” the alpha gave him a quick peck, as if that was all the confirmation he needed to start planning.

“Okay,” Isaac nodded and continued dancing. A trip to Europe sounded like an amazing plan.

“Although now I have another question,” Scott said nonchalantly as he started dancing again to the new song. Isaac just nodded. “Were you thinking about getting married?”

***

**_November_ **

In the gloomy and grey early morning of a rainy autumn day, Dr Alan Deaton closed his car door and stepped out. He threw a few careful glances around, making sure that he was unobserved, and only walked off when he was sure that nobody had spotted him.

It was the pre-dawn following the night of the Blue Moon, which had risen in between the Hunter’s Moon and the Beaver Moon. The druidic significance of this conjunction was such that even those not initiated in the supernatural could see it: there had been a second full moon in October, which rose on Halloween and set on the Day of the Dead.

Deaton pulled a quartz crystal from his pocket and fitted it into a copper ring attached to a thin copper chain as he walked into the preserve, the floor soft underfoot with rotting leaves and mud. The last time he had used those crystals had been during the previous summer, back in France.

Ever since the summer ritual when they opened a portal and banished the Hound of Tindalos, Deaton had noticed a very slight shift in the telluric flows. It was not a power he could really tap into, but he could sense it and, to an extent, he had learnt to focus it. This shift, slight as it was, was still significant enough to cause concern.

When Deaton reached the stump that had once been the nemeton, he knelt and unfolded a map. With his compass, he oriented the paper so that the lines drawn on the map coincided with the telluric currents that invisibly flowed underneath. He pulled his quartz crystal and walked around. Locating the ley lines took a combination of intuition, knowledge, and a special sensitivity to the slightest vibrations given by the oscillating crystal, but after walking around the nemeton grove half a dozen times, the vet seemed happy with his measurements. He put the crystal back in his pocket, he rolled the map, and walked back home.

As he drove back, he processed the readings he had taken, and the druid smiled. _I should book a holiday. I should go back to Montmagny_ , he thought. He had not been back to Canada in almost a decade, so it was about time he visited his relatives. Perhaps that could be the motivation he needed to continue with his patisserie blog, which he had abandoned soon after Laura Hale returned to Beacon Hills. With this thought in mind, Alan turned on the radio to something cheesy to listen to, and even tapped rhythmically at the wheel to whatever crap they were playing at that moment.

_Maybe I’ll buy that road bike I always wanted_ , he thought as he turned a corner. The possibilities were endless. His grin widened. With Malia and Derek as part of Scott’s pack permanently in Beacon Hills, and the alpha himself about to return for good, maybe he could finally have some time to do long cycling routes on the weekends. Alan could definitely get used to this life. Oh, the joys of having his life back! The benefits of having a deactivated nemeton!

***

**_December_ **

“Have you two got your passports?” Lydia shouted from the living room. Jackson rushed down the stairs and handed the two blue passports to her.

“Ethan’s printing the tickets.”

“Have you booked the cab?”

“It’s on its way,” Jackson said in his cocky ‘I-did-it-without-being-told-to-do-it’ voice. Lydia rolled her eyes.

Ethan, Jackson and Lydia were in the Cambridge townhouse they rented, finishing all their packing before they flew home for Christmas. With Jackson and Lydia both doing there a graduate programme, it had made sense for them to share a house together. It led to fewer questions when it came to full moons, and they did not have to bother with prying housemates.

“Will I need my Christmas jumper or my Christmas tie for dinner with your parents, Jacks?” Ethan called from their bedroom.

“Bring both!” Jackson said aloud. “They’re both awful anyways…”

“I _heard_ that! I’ll tell Isaac and you’ll regret it!” Ethan yelled back. Both had been Isaac’s Secret Santa present last year and, secretly, Ethan was dying to wear them just to see Isaac’s face.

“Jacks, where’s my blue suit?” Ethan called again, after a while.

“You better go and help him,” Lydia said without looking up as she checked she had everything in her bag. Jackson huffed and rolled his eyes, but went to help his boyfriend.

They were flying from London to Chicago in a few hours, and then a short stopover before they boarded on a flight to Sacramento, where Isaac and Scott would pick them up and all would drive home together.

“Adapters?” Jackson shouted, and Lydia had to breathe in for a second before she barged in upstairs and grabbed each werewolf by the ear.

“Packed them…”

“Okay, we’re ready!”

As Ethan brought down the suitcases, Jackson rushed outside, speaking on his phone to the taxi driver, who had got lost. Lydia meanwhile went to make sure all the lights were off, the plants watered, the doors locked, and the water main closed. Three minutes later, the driver was honking outside their door, and the three of them walked out, leaving their term-time home behind.

Once the taxi drove off and turned the corner, a lush envelope was pushed through the letter slot. It was made of thick, black paper, sealed with wax, and Jackson and Ethan’s names were inscribed in elegant, hand-written golden letters. Inside, in an equally stiff and heavy card, there was an invitation with three tickets.

_It iſ with great pleaſure that we invite you to_

_THE ONE-NIGHT PERFORMANCE_

_Of a most exquiſite and long-loſt play:_

**ǷE KINGE IN YELLOW**

***

**_January_ **

The first week of January was bitterly cold, and the weather was miserable. All in all, however, the fog and rain was remarkably nicer than the freezing wind that blew in strong gusts every now and then. The former member of the McCall pack disapproved of this harsh wintery weather because it ruined their mood. They were happy to return to Beacon Hills, and they did not want the weather to dictate how to feel.

With some unexpected family money and the advice of some new friends, the former packmember was about to open Beacon Hills’ newest and latest coffee house with one of their cousins: Howling Beans. They had spent the last few weeks sorting out a large and unexpectedly cheap unit that had just been built where there had once been a bookstore, apparently. They did not remember a bookstore there, although there were many rumours about what had happened there in the past. The former member of the McCall pack did not care much, though.

Opening a new business and starting a new life were the main parts of the Plan, but a secondary objective was to return to the pack, even if they had left it in less than ideal circumstances. But Scott was understanding. Hopefully he would take them back. Not that they were returning only because of Scott. Well, it was partly because of him, but also because of one of the other pack members, which they left heart broken. They had also heard rumours through social media that there was a new werewolf in town that had been part of the pack before their time. The former packmember was curious about this, because if someone that had been gone for years had been welcomed back, there was no reason why the pack would not welcome them either.

In any case, now there was a chance to start again all over; a new chance to earn the pack’s trust, and hopefully regain an old love. If any of that happened, it would be a great boon, but as far as the café worked, they would be fine. It would work. It _had_ to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHRIST ON A BIKE! It's *finally* done! For the handful of you who have come all the way to the very end, thank you very much and I hope you liked it (and that it met your expectations)! i_dont_want_to_tell_you_my_name has been key in putting this fic together and in making sure it was readable, and I cannot ever thank him enough.
> 
> But yes, we have the boys living happily in California, Isaac got his brother back, the pack is doing all good, and as a bonus the nemeton is now inactive! The good people of Beacon Hills deserve it. And the pack. Peace and quiet for everyone. Also, there have been a handful of apologies which I thought were necessary (yep, Derek, looking at you).
> 
> If you have any thoughts or comments or doubts (or things that I haven't clarified, or TW that I should have flagged, or anything), please do ask. I love getting comments and feedback.
> 
> Lastly, I have an outline for a last fic in this Teen Wolf-Lovecraftian series (as some of you might have guessed from the last bits of this chapter), but for the time being I am going to write a AU Teen Wolf fic set in space! Predictably, it'll be focused on Isaac (and Scott), but there'll be an odd mix of 'old pack' and 'new pack'. But yeah, that'll be out in a bit. Hope to see you some of you there?
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for reading!


	36. Appendix: Timeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline of events

NB: In this AU Scott is bitten in 2015 and not in 2011

  * Outside time and space: The Hounds of Tindalos exist.
  * 800 million years ago (mya): The Seven Sleepers reach their furthest point into the past. They encounter the Old Ones and get a glimpse of their shallow-sea underwater city when the Hound enters our dimension and begins to pursue Demetria and her companions.
  * 620-5 mya: The Seven Sleepers travel back in time with increasing leaps, visiting various points of the History of Earth. After they encounter the Hound, they tumble forward in time trying to avoid their pursuer.
  * 140 BC: The Seven Sleepers travel back in time to Alexandria to obtain a mechanikon that can do complex calculations for them.
  * 250 AD: The Seven Sleepers discover the secrets of time travelling.
  * 540-900: The Seven Sleepers keep jumping forward as they flee from the Hound.
  * 1240: The Seven Sleepers arrive to the central Asian temple along the Silk Road where they visit Ulugh, who tells them about the prophecy hidden in the Pnakotic Manuscritps.
  * 1798: The Seven Sleepers find the Beacon Hills nemeton during the colonial period with the help of Ulugh’s calculations, but they realise they are too early for the druids. Demetria acquires the dream catcher.
  * 2002: Bobby Finstock gets massively drunk during a Christmas party and passes out on the nemeton, discovering his capabilities as a dreamwalker.
  * 2008: Bobby Finstock becomes an Oneiric Pilgrim and adopts the name of Taliesin.
  * 2010: Camden Lahey enlists, leaving his brother Isaac behind.
  * 2013: Camden Lahey is ambushed while in Afghanistan and written down as _KIA_. In truth he rolled into a cave and was welcomed into the Dreamlands. His memories are erased and begins a new life as Cantior.
  * (2013-2020): Time works differently in the Dreamlands, but Camden spends these years as Cantior.
  * 2019, July: The mi-go cult attempts its ritual in Beacon Hills, but it is thwarted. Isaac moves back to California with Scott.
  * 2020, June: Isaac, Liam, and Stiles begin to have recurrent, lucid, and weird dreams. 
    * 24th June: Isaac has his final exam.
    * 25th June: Isaac and Scott return to Beacon Hills for the summer.
  * 2020, late June/early July: the pack slowly returns back to Beacon Hills for the holidays. Isaac, Liam and Stiles have increasingly weird dreams
  * 2020, July: 
    * 3rd (pm): Isaac, Stiles and Liam see the Iron Keys in their dreams for the first time
    * 4th: Pack BBQ at Jackson’s house.
    * 5th: Isaac and Liam have a quiet chat in the preserve, when they first question each other about the odd dreams they are having.
    * 6th: Nyarlathotep enters the shared time loop and pushes the dreamwalkers through a portal into the Dreamlands, where they encounter the Seven Sleepers and Cantior in a tavern, which accelerates the Sleepers’ search for a nemeton and Cantior’s own prophecy.
    * 9th: Melissa and Chris give Isaac and Scott the Argent’s old apartment.
    * 12th: Housewarming party.
    * 18th: The pack go to the old Lahey house to fix and repair it. Isaac recovers his brother’s dog tags.
    * 25th, am: after a week of dreams getting worse and worse (and of Liam and Stiles begging him to join them in the Dreamlands), Isaac wakes up and goes for a run early in the morning. He bumps into Demetria and the Hound.
    * 25th, pm: The pack gathers at the abandoned cement silo with the Seven Sleepers and have a first meeting.
    * 26th, am: The pack is woken up simultaneously by various converging events.
    * 26th, dusk: Evening of the Wolf Star. The pack divides into two groups: one descending into the Dreamlands, the other carrying out the incantation at the nemeton.
    * 27th, dawn: The Wolf Star sets in the horizon.




End file.
